Katniss and Cato: Amorous Encounters
by RichardJ
Summary: Why is the normally shy and naive Katniss suddenly flaunting her body? And why is a trained killer like Cato wasting valuable time showing an interest? It should be impossible for two tributes from different districts to be alone together. So how come Katniss and Cato set out to prove it possible? A three part story recording the secret love affair between Katniss and Cato.
1. Primal urges

Suzanne Collins is acknowledged as the creator of the Hunger Games characters and story.

 **Part One: Tribute**

1\. Primal urges.

Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket; a drunk and a nag. They're whom I'm stuck with on this train tonight. Them and Peeta Mellark, my fellow tribute from District Twelve. I'd like to spend the remainder of this journey alone in my compartment, but Effie won't let me. According to Effie, the four of us must take our evening meal together in the lounge car. Apparently it will be a chance for Haymitch and Effie to impart further essential advice, without which Peeta and I won't survive the next few weeks. Unless the 74th Hunger Games are to be a two-week long drinking contest, I can't imagine what useful advice Haymitch is in a fit state to tell us.

"The meal will be served at seven-thirty," says Effie to Haymitch, Peeta and I. "I want you to go and freshen up, and change into something suitable for dinner. You need to practise at being civilised."

Haymitch simply belches and pours himself another drink. I'm too tired to challenge Effie's last remark. I may not live in a fancy house, nor have a wardrobe full of clothes, but I've never thought of myself as uncivilised. I mean, I do know how to use a knife and fork. Anyway, I agree that Haymitch needs to clean himself up and put on some new clothes. He's spilled enough booze on his shirt and pants to be a fire hazard.

Strangely enough I can understand why Haymitch seeks solace in drink. It can't be easy being the sole District Twelve mentor for twenty four years on the trot. For each of the last twenty three years he's done this same trip with two kids reaped from the young people of our district. None of those kids returned alive from the Hunger Games arena. In truth, none of them came close to winning their Hunger Games contest. Now this year's reaping has delivered Peeta and I into his care. He's already written us off as dead. Which annoys me a lot. I've no intention of going to my death without a fight. Unfortunately, Haymitch is already so drunk that he's worse than useless to me.

"I didn't bring any spare clothes," I say to Effie.

"There's a selection of clothes in your compartment," replies Effie, as though I should have known that already. I suppose I could have looked for myself when we first boarded the train, but I was too distraught at being torn away from my family and friends to notice anything. I go to my compartment at the far end of the next car.

The accommodation car has six compartments, each with a narrow bed, a wardrobe and a small private bathroom. I've never travelled on a train before, so I don't know whether or not this arrangement is typical for long distance trains. Having a private bathroom strikes me as extravagant, but I'm not complaining.

Peeta and Haymitch have the two compartments nearest the lounge car, with Effie and I at the far end. The two compartments in the middle are empty. A barrier between the genders to discourage any funny games in the night. As if any of us are likely to be in the mood for that sort of thing!

I look through the selection of clothing hanging in the wardrobe. I suppose that by the standards of the Capitol, the selection is quite ordinary. But not to me. After a life time of wearing clothes made of coarse linen or leather, the soft fabrics on display are almost too good to wear. Almost.

At first I think the clothes are too small for me. It's a though they were expecting someone the size of my sister Prim. On closer inspection I realise the fabric stretches to fit the wearer comfortably. It's not exactly one-size-fits-all clothing, but it's close enough. Evidence of the Capitol's amazing technology which it normally denies to those of us in the districts. In addition to a nightdress there's a choice of three outfits. I put back the shirt and trousers, deciding I'll save those to wear tomorrow morning. Which leaves a three-quarter length dress, and short skirt and blouse. I can't say the colours and patterns appeal to me, but it's all the choice I'm being given. I could refuse to change and continue to wear my own dress, but I'm not in the mood for another battle of wills against Effie.

I take a shower in the tiny cubicle. How someone the size of Haymitch is expected to manage in this confined space is beyond me. I bang my head, elbows and knees more than a few times. Washing my hair is virtually impossible, but the stubborn streak in me refuses to give up. As it is, I get through six bars of soap ... not because I'm dirty, but I drop five of them while I am showering and there's no easy way to pick them up without getting out of the shower.

Drying myself is easier than I first feared. The bathroom is fitted with a body dryer which comes complete with easy to follow instructions. Once I'm dry, I rummage through the assorted bottles of oils and powders in the bathroom cabinet. I've no idea what some of the concoctions are supposed to do. I decide against showing my ignorance and leave them all alone.

Feeling much better for the shower, I return to the wardrobe and look at the outfits once again. I try the blouse on, but soon discard it in favour of the dress. The stretchy fabric of the blouse means it's a snug fit. It shows every contour of my body in intimate detail. Far too much detail for my liking. I don't want to spend the evening sat there while Haymitch and Peeta ogle at my body. Not that the dress is much better, but the deep cut at the back means the front isn't quite so tight around my chest.

The clock by my bed shows seven-fifteen as I add the finishing touches to my attire. Shoes will be a problem, since I've only the ones I was wearing when I boarded the train. I may not be a fashion princess, but I know my clumpy school shoes don't suit the fine lines of this dress. There's a pair of white slippers in the bedside cabinet, but they're no better than my shoes. I check everywhere once again in case I've missed a hidden cache of shoes. Nothing.

I'm down to a choice between going barefoot or wearing my school shoes. Barefoot wins the day. I set out for the lounge car with five minutes to spare. Effie is already there, looking elegant despite the riot of colours in her outfit. Without getting up, she looks at me as though she's a sergeant-major inspecting a new recruit. Her small nod of approval means I must have passed whatever test it was that I've just undergone. I sit in a chair facing Effie.

"Did you find the make-up and perfume?" asks Effie.

"Yes, but I don't use them," I reply, refusing to show my ignorance.

"I understand," replies Effie, clearly not understanding at all. "Of course, if you were a girl from the Capitol, you would have been wearing those since you were ten years old."

"If I was a girl from the Capitol, I wouldn't be on this train going to my almost certain death," I retort, unable to contain my anger.

"Hmmm ... Quite so, quite so," replies Effie, nonplussed by my outburst for only a moment. "But you must look on this trip as an opportunity. A winner of the Hunger Games receives rewards far exceeding your wildest imagination."

I could let rip with a tirade about the unfairness of it all. How I would prefer not to be here. Yes, there's a winner of each Hunger Games, but for every winner there are also twenty three losers. Dead losers. Lives wasted just to satisfy the power-hungry overlords living in the Capitol. President Snow in particular. But I'm too weary from today's exertions to pick a fight with Effie. Added to which, what good would it do. Effie isn't responsible for the reaping. She's just a pawn in a much bigger game.

Peeta joins us while I'm brooding over my last thoughts. He's looking smart, although he too has had trouble with the skin-hugging fabric of the clothing provided. However, in his case, it shows off his body to good effect. He's more muscular than most district boys of his age. Probably because his parents run the local bakery. Unlike most district children, he's not likely to have had to go without too many meals. His chest and stomach look ...

Argghh! Get a grip of yourself girl! You're looking at him as though you're some lovestruck fourteen year old. He's going to be your enemy once we're inside the arena. Don't you dare forget it.

A small bell rings and Effie goes to the strange piece of furniture that stands at the far end of the lounge car. It looks like a large sideboard, but I know it's something more than that. Effie lifts a large flap in the thingamajig, and there sits several bowls of food. The steam rising from the bowls indicates they are warm. How they got there is a mystery to me.

"Katniss, would you like to help me set the table?" asks Effie, making it sound more like a command than a question.

My immediate thought is why doesn't she ask Peeta. Is setting the table regarded as women's work in Effie's eyes. So much for gender equality. Of course, if Haymitch were here I wouldn't trust him to carry anything to the table. He'd more than likely end up wearing the food. But Peeta is able bodied and more than capable of helping with the task.

I do Peeta an injustice. He immediately stands up and goes to help Effie. I need to leap up after him to make it look as though I'm just as willing to be helpful. We arrive together. To my great surprise Effie tells Peeta to go and sit down while she and I set the table. I'm fuming.

"Is there some reason why Peeta can't help?" I ask, loud enough for Peeta to hear.

"Don't be rude, Katniss," says Effie. "I merely needed to have a quiet word with you. Peeta. Would you be so good as to find out what is delaying Haymitch."

My anger abates, but doesn't dissipate entirely. I have enough sense to hold my tongue until Peeta has left the lounge car.

"Well?" I say with as soon as the door closes behind Peeta.

"Katniss, my dear," begins Effie. "Your not wearing any underwear or shoes. Could you not find them in your compartment?"

"Of course I found them," I lie, refusing to admit my obvious failure. "I often go barefoot and without underwear. There's no rule against it, is there?"

"No. There's nothing saying that you must wear those things. You're quite welcome to wear what you like. Only Peeta will no doubt have noticed the absence of your underwear and he might jump to the wrong conclusions."

"Wrong conclusions?" I ask. "Do you mean that he might think I'm trying to lead him on? That I want to make out with him?"

"Um ... yes. It isn't unheard of, you know. Two tributes facing an uncertain future, and a certain death for at least one of them. Primal urges can sometimes take hold and ... well, you surely understand what I mean."

"Yes. And no," I reply. "Yes, I understand what you mean. And no, I'm not going to be leaping into bed with Peeta tonight, nor at any time this side of next Christmas."

"Okay, okay," replies Effie defensively. "Don't get your panties in a twist. You should ... Why are you laughing?"

"You just made a joke, Effie," I reply, stifling my laughter. "I can hardly get my panties in a twist if I'm not wearing any."

My reply has Effie at a loss for words. Instead she hands me a small box containing a dozen or so white pills.

"What are these for?" I ask. "I don't do drugs."

"They're contraceptives, my dear. Just in case you need them. Take one a day."

Now it is my turn to be lost for words. I slip the box into the small pocket in my dress. Why on earth would Effie think I need something like this. I'll likely be dead in a couple of weeks. Worrying about bringing up a child is the least of my problems. Besides, even I know that you need two people to make babies.


	2. Strangers on a train

2\. Strangers on a train.

Fortunately the need to set the table makes further conversation unnecessary. Peeta has returned by the time we have finished.

"Haymitch has fallen asleep on the floor of his compartment. I've moved him onto his bunk, but he'll not be joining us tonight."

"Damn the man," grumbles Effie. "I don't know what I've done to deserve being saddled with him every year."

"Haymitch is District Twelve's only Hunger Games victor who is still alive," I reply, for some reason feeling it necessary to defend Haymitch's presence on this trip, although not his drunkenness. "If neither Peeta nor I win these Games, then you'll be saddled with Haymitch next year as well. If you don't like the prospect of that, then I suggest you help one of us to win these Games."

Effie goes silent for a while, during which time the three of us help ourselves to some of the excellent food laid out before us. I catch Peeta looking at me in a way that suggests Effie's warning about primal urges wasn't misplaced. At first I don't know how to respond. I could ignore it or make light of it. Or I could challenge him and tell him to stop. Unfortunately the thought of him looking at me in that way is arousing feelings inside me. The very feelings Effie warned me about and I so readily dismissed. Whatever I do, I mustn't show any weakness. In the end I decide I must play the wanton hussy and actually encourage his admiration. Effie looks at me with obvious disapproval, but she doesn't say anything.

"I guess Haymitch's advice will have to wait until we've arrived in the Capitol," says Effie. "All I need to tell you tonight are the arrangements for tomorrow morning. In about four or five hours we will arrive at a rail junction just outside the Capitol where we will stop until morning. The trains from the other districts will arrive about the same time. The pairs of cars from each district will then be marshalled into four longer trains. Those four trains will set off in the morning so as to arrive at the Capitol's railway station exactly twenty minutes apart. You can expect a large crowd at the station, eager to see all the tributes in person. From the station you'll be escorted to Hunger Games Training Centre. I'll give you further instructions when we get there.

"As for tonight, please stay in your compartment. If you must move about, then don't try to go beyond our accommodation car and this lounge car. The doors to the outside and the rest of the train will be locked in any case. I'm only telling you all this in case you wake up and notice the train isn't moving, or you hear the railwaymen working outside."

"So our train will carry tributes from two other districts," observes Peeta. "Which districts?"

"I don't know," replies Effie. "It depends on the order in which each of the trains from the districts arrive. We've the furthest to travel, but that doesn't mean we'll arrive last. We set off much earlier than most of the others. Trains from the inner districts may only be departing now."

Given the dire circumstances of our journey, the three of us enjoy a pleasant few hours over dinner. I take a mischievous delight in teasing Peeta with my fake wantonness. Effie doesn't stop me, but I'm equally sure she wouldn't stop Peeta if he made a grab for me in response. Fortunately for me Peeta seems more than happy to admire the view on offer without feeling the need to reciprocate. Not that's he's blind to my promiscuous play. I just hope Peeta realises this is all a game and I'm not seriously wanting an intimate relationship at the moment.

By ten o'clock Peeta and I are beginning to droop. Normally I'm tucked up in bed by this hour, ready to rise at six in the morning. Peeta and his family probably go to bed even earlier, rising before five to bake the new day's bread. We say goodnight to Effie, leaving her to dispose of the remnants of our meal and the dirty dishes.

It's a dangerous moment as Peeta and I reach his compartment. If he was fooled by my game into thinking I want to spend the night in his bed, then now is the moment he'll make his play. But he doesn't. He simply wishes me goodnight and enters his compartment alone. Strangely, I feel a little disappointed, even though I had no intention of entering his room. He could have at least given me the chance to say no thanks.

I return to my room and prepare for bed. The nightdress is too tight, so I do without. It's warm enough on this train that I don't need it. While I don't normally sleep naked, I've sometimes stripped down to my panties to sleep when there's been a heatwave. Even so, I have difficulty in sleeping. The plain truth is that I'm too aroused. My actions this evening are so far outside my normal behaviour pattern that I doubt anyone who knows me would recognise them as mine. I don't recognise the girl in my body tonight. But none of this is helping to calm the tingling feeling I'm getting in the sensitive parts of my body. I need to do something ... and soon.

I'm torn between taking a walk to calm my heightened senses, or to give in to my base desires and satisfy my sexual cravings. I've faced this problem a few times before, but never as urgently as tonight. I'm only too well aware of Prim's reaction that time she walked in on me while I was satisfying my urges. It was only a few weeks ago, but it seems like a lifetime. It wasn't so much her reaction that upset me as my acute embarrassment. I promised myself never to surrender to such carnal behaviour again.

Of course, my door is locked and everybody else is asleep. If I chose to let my hands wander over my sensitive body, then nobody would be any the wiser. But I made a promise to myself and I'm determined to keep it. I'm tired but sleep is eluding me. I try to think about something else ... anything else. As if in answer to my prayer, the train makes an uncharacteristic jolt. It's only then that I realise we've stopped moving. Effie said the trains from each district would gather at some rail junction in preparation for the final leg into the Capitol in the morning. I guess we must have arrived at the junction. The jolt must have been the railwaymen coupling another district's train to ours.

The sound of voices in the corridor outside my compartment confirms my assessment. The language is quite colourful and I get the impression that there's a problem. Then there's a banging noise followed by a series of more jolts ... some quite sharp. Finally everything settles down. Only by this time I'm wide awake. I put on the dressing gown hanging on the bathroom door and take a peek outside my compartment. I've no real plan of what I intend to do ... perhaps I'll go to the lounge car and get a hot drink.

The first thing I notice is the door joining this car to the newly joined set is wide open. It's an automated sliding door which was firmly locked when I tried it earlier. Now I can see into the car next to this one. It's a lounge car like ours. It'll be quicker to get my drink from there than trekking all the way down to our lounge car. There's no sign of the railwaymen and everybody else will be asleep. Nobody will notice. I walk confidently into the lounge car and go over to the drinks dispenser.

"I'm picking you don't work for the railway company," comes a voice from the easy chairs by the side windows.

I pull my dressing gown tightly closed in case it had drifted open in my haste to get a drink. Suddenly I'm very aware of my nakedness under my gown. I turn towards the chairs where the voice came from and see a fair haired boy a year or two older than me. He's sitting there enjoying a hot drink.

"Couldn't you sleep either?" he says.

"No," I reply. "The jolting disturbed my attempts at sleep, so I came looking for a drink. I shouldn't be here. I'll leave."

"There's no rush," replies the boy. "The railwaymen won't be back for another couple of hours. They said the train they're waiting for is running very late. Come and join me. I won't bite."

"I'm hardly dressed for the occasion," I reply. "I think I should go fetch my drink from the right lounge car and leave you in peace."

"And deny a fellow insomniac of your company. How cruel," laughs the boy.

Now I'm torn between bolting like a frightened rabbit, or facing down the boy's obvious challenge. I've not forgotten that we'll be rivals inside the Hunger Games arena. Any weakness shown now will be exploited later. He has me at a disadvantage. He's fully clothed while I'm all but naked. He's on his home territory while I'm the interloper. I can't afford to make a mistake.

"Okay," I say, sitting on a chair opposite him once I've poured myself a hot drink. "Just for a while."

"So, do you have a name?" asks the boy.

"Katniss. Katniss Everdeen," I reply.

"Ah! The girl from Twelve who volunteered in place of her sister. I'm honoured."

"You seem to know a lot about me?" I ask, surprised he knows even this piece of information.

"Did your mentor not go through the list of your rivals with you?" says the boy. "No, probably not. Haymitch will be your mentor. He's probably too drunk by now to think of telling you that."

"Haymitch is all right," I say, again feeling it necessary to defend Haymitch even though he's clearly let Peeta and I down. "He'll tell us when we need to know."

"I'm sure he will," smiles the boy. "In the meantime I have you at a disadvantage. Should I be kind and help you out, or be true to my training and press home my advantage."

"So, are you going to tell me your name and your district?" I say.

"I haven't decided yet," he replies.

I stand up at once and make as though I'm going to leave. He's playing mind games and I'm determined that he's not going to get the better of me.

"Cato," he quickly replies, successfully halting my departure.

"District?"

"See if you can guess," replies Cato.

"You said you'd received training, so I'm guessing that you're a Career. District One or Two?"

"Very observant," says Cato. "District Two. I can see I'm going to have to keep an eye on you. Are you a virgin?"

"Say again?" I reply in utter astonishment at the effrontery of his question. Surely I misheard him.

"Are you a virgin?" he repeats as though he's asking me about my favourite food.

"What business is that of yours?" I retort.

"Only I've never deflowered a virgin. I'd really like to do that before we enter the arena."

"Well, I've always wanted to see the ocean," I reply. "It looks like we're both going to miss out."

"Speak for yourself," laughs Cato. "So, are you a virgin, or are you just playing hard to get?"

If I had any sense I'd get up and walk out now while the going is good. But this conversation has simply reignited my arousal and I'm undecided what to do about it.

"I don't think I'm your type," I reply. "I'm betting that you like your girls all submissive and obedient. If that's the case, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Ah-ha! Then there is hope for me yet. I thought you were a type three when I first saw you."

"Type three? Do you mean to tell me that you classify all the girls you meet into categories?"

"No. No. No. Not at all. It's the drugs the gamemakers put in our food. They don't want the tributes arriving in the Capitol looking terrified and wetting themselves in panic. They put drugs in our food. It's why they transport us overland ... to give the drugs time to take effect. Each person reacts differently to the drugs, but they generally fall into one of three categories. Type ones simply mellow and take a quiet trip in the clouds; type twos go all bouncy and talkative ... even the introverts; and type threes are the lucky ones. They get randy and want to leap on the nearest suitable person they can find."

"So you think I'm a type three. What makes you so sure?"

"The fact that you've not run out of here before now, and because you've got nothing on under that robe."

I instinctively pull my dressing gown tight, inadvertently giving Cato the confirmation that his guess is right. At least he's given me an explanation for the strange but pleasant feelings coursing through my body. Providing that he's telling me the truth. Perhaps Effie knew as well. Maybe that's why she offered me the contraceptives. On second thoughts though, she gave me those before we sat down to eat.

"So what type are you?" I ask Cato, not certain I really want to know.

"Take a guess. What type would you like me to be?"


	3. Desperate for some action

3\. Desperate for some action

"I'm not certain what type I want you to be," I reply. "Looking at you sat there, I'd have said you were laid back like a type one. You certainly have a lot to say for yourself; type two. And you seem eager to get inside my pants; type three."

"Ah! But you're not wearing any pants, are you?" smiles Cato.

"That is for me to know, and you to merely speculate about," I reply primly.

"Hah! You're a feisty one. I like you," replies Cato, not the least bit put off by my words.

I've nearly finished my drink and I must decide what I'm going to do once I'm done. I feel safe enough clutching my hot drink. If Cato gets too forward, I can always toss my drink in his face and make a dash for my compartment. I'm fairly sure he won't follow me if I do. It'll be a less than elegant retreat, but at least I'll be safe.

Safe. There's an interesting concept. When and where in Panem am I ever going to be safe. When was I ever safe in this cesspit of a world. Safety only exists in your imagination and in fairy tales. I'm kidding myself if I think anything that I do is going to guarantee my safety. So scrub safety and go for broke.

"So are you going to tell me which of these mysterious types you are being tonight?" I say.

"Actually, I'm none of them. The gamemakers don't bother adding drugs to the food of the Districts One and Two tributes. We're all trained warriors, so we don't need the bottled courage the drugs provide."

"And what about Effie and Haymitch? Are they drugged as well. They're supposed to be watching over Peeta and I. They can't do that if they're spaced out on some drug."

"No, they'll have taken an antidote to counter the effects of the drug. Although I'm not certain how it'll affect Haymitch if he's been hitting the bottle as usual. Alcohol and drugs are a bad combination under any circumstances. I'm betting he'll be zonked out for the rest of the night. Why do you ask? Do you feel in need of their protection?"

"No. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself," I reply. "I feel sorry for you though. It's a shame really. Here you are ready and willing to take advantage of my sweet virginal bod, but if what you've said is true, then you can't touch me. I'm under the influence of the gamemakers' drugs, while you aren't. Make a false move and they'll lock you up and throw away the key. You can kiss goodbye to any thoughts of taking the victors' winnings. As I said ... it's a shame really. I'm feeling rather ... um ... amorous."

"Okay. I lied," says Cato. "There are no gamemakers drugs. I just made it up to see how you'd react. Are you really feeling amorous?"

"Oh, I don't know if I could fall for a guy who tells lies. I mean, how do I know you're telling me the truth now? You could be lying yet again."

"Well we can make each other a promise. No lies to each other. Only the truth. Always."

"Seriously?" I laugh. "You must be desperate for some action tonight. We barely know each other and you're promising never to lie to me. Why?"

"In little more than a week at least one of us will be dead. It's hardly a long term commitment. Our lives are no longer measured in years, but in hours. Minutes even. I feel I can't afford to waste time by taking the round about route to anything. I'll be honest with you. I'm attracted to you. I want us to make out."

I could pretend that I'm offended. That a girl likes a bit of sweet talk before she drops her pants for a boy ... not that I'm wearing any. But I'm basing my standards on what? A platonic friendship with Gale back at home, and a few furtive moments with one of the boys from school. I'm not exactly Miss Experience when it comes to this sort of thing. I need to decide whether to run or to play.

What tips my decision is that Cato has described exactly how I feel. My whole life before me has been compressed into a few short days. Five minutes has now become a long time. Added to which I admit that I find Cato attractive. He's not the marrying kind, but he's the sort of guy who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to reach for it. Me in this case. I can respect a guy like Cato.

"Okay," I reply. "Let's make out. Here or in one of the compartments."

"Here. There isn't enough room to swing a cat in the compartments. We won't be disturbed. Come and sit over here."

I put down my empty cup and move towards the chair next to Cato. While it's closer to him than the chair opposite, it isn't the style of chair designed for what we have in mind.

"No, on this chair. Come and sit on my lap."

I've not sat on a man's lap since my dad died. He used to bounce me on his lap when I was five years old. I don't think Cato has the same plans for me tonight, though. I sit gingerly on his lap, not certain how to best position myself. I'm scarcely in place when Cato's hand darts inside the opening of my dressing gown. He confirms what I think he already knew ... that I've no clothes on underneath my gown. He doesn't waste much time before his hand starts stimulating my body. Not that it needs much stimulating. I've spent nearly the entire night in a state of arousal which has only varied in its degree of urgency. Now Cato is bringing me back to the boil. I move slightly to prevent him from tipping me over that blissful edge too soon.

I realise that I must respond in kind, so I busy myself removing his shirt. Cato's trousers are more of a problem with me sat on his lap. I make to stand up so as to get into a better position to attack the rock hard object of my quest. He senses my intentions and he prevents me from standing. He pins my arms behind my back. Frustrated, I sit back onto his lap. I need to try another tactic. To be honest, I'm out of my depth at these sorts of games. I simply lack the experience. I'm more than willing to learn, but I'm not certain Cato is going to be a good teacher. Cato knows what he wants and clearly prefers to control the encounter. But I'm not the passive sort, so this encounter is in danger of becoming a battle of wills.

I try to kiss him, but he only half heartedly responds. He's only interested in achieving his goal; Katniss deflowered. I'm not certain I can prevent him, nor whether I want to even if I could. But if I meekly allow him to achieve his goal without receiving some satisfaction in return, then I'm not going to be able to face myself in the morning. And I'm sure as Hell not going to be able to face Cato on equal terms in the arena.

"Stop," I say firmly, hiding my uncertainty that he'll comply. To my great relief he does as I ask, and he allows me to stand. It's an important victory for both of us. Trust is essential in any relationship.

"This isn't working," I say as I turn to face him. "I'm not a soft toy for you to maul. I'll not let you take all the satisfaction and leave me with none."

Cato looks at me dumbfounded. He's no virgin, but I'm picking I'm the first girl who's taken him to task over his selfish approach to sex. I'm sure there are girls who would quite happily let Cato dominate them entirely. I've heard of tales about women who like to be tied up and spanked during sex. I even know a couple of girls who might fit into that category. But I'm not one of them. It's a critical moment. Cato will either push me away and send me back to my compartment frustrated, or he'll accept the challenge and allow the two of us to explore a way of satisfying both our needs.

He doesn't say anything for what seems like an eternity. At least he doesn't explode in my face or send me on my way. If I was more experienced in these matters I might have been able to handle this better, but for better or worse I've played my best shot.

"What exactly don't you like about what we are doing?" asks Cato warily.

"I want us to share the pleasure. You're sending me wild with desire but you aren't allowing me to reciprocate. You pinned my arms behind my back so I couldn't use them to return the pleasure you're giving me. You have me virtually naked, but you won't allow me to finish undressing you."

"I've never had any complaints before," says Cato defensively.

"That maybe so," I reply. "But I'm guessing our circumstances are different here. We've met as Hunger Games tributes. A long term relationship is out of the question."

"Well there was no long term expectations with the other girls," replies Cato. "A trainee at the District Two Academy is rewarded with certain privileges for top performance during training."

"Prostitutes? Do you mean to say that you're comparing our lovemaking to your experiences with prostitutes?"

"Umm ... I guess so. They weren't exactly prostitutes. More like camp followers. Young women eager to be associated with a potential Hunger Games victor. Some have hopes of marriage, but most are simply there for the thrill."

"Then you're a fool, Cato. You'll never get a complaint from a girl like that, short of beating her senseless. I'm not here to massage your ego. I want sex with you. You want sex with me. We're partners, not master and slave girl."

"God, you're beautiful when you get angry," says Cato, successfully scuttling my tirade. "I wish I could get angry like that without lashing out at anything within range. Okay, so we're partners. Are you game to try again?"

"I need to calm down a bit first," I reply.

"Here. Let me help you with that," says Cato, taking me into his arms.

It feels so different this time. Cato is more considerate, although only time will tell whether he can keep up this behaviour. My anger quickly fades as his hands roam my body. This time he allows me to do the same to him. I've never done this with a boy, but I'm guessing the sensitive spots on my body have a counterpart on him. I soon discover which are the more pleasurable parts and which he finds irritating. I likewise guide him as he explores my body. Moaning gently when he finds a nice spot and making a different noise when he's missed the mark.

I lose several things over the next hour or so. My clothing is the first to go. Not that my dressing gown was a serious impediment to Cato's desire to see me naked. At least he allows me to undress him at the same time. The next thing I lose is all sense of time. Cato said we had a couple of hours and neither of us seem in a rush to take the ultimate step in our union. But that final step eventually comes. Not as a particularly deliberate act, but as a natural progression in the escalating passion of our games.

I had expected a certain amount of pain, but apart from a few bruises and exhausted limbs, I'm feeling on top of the world. I really don't want to return to reality. Unfortunately reality is pulling me back from the stratosphere of my emotions. The first indication that our playtime is about to end is the slight jolt of the car. It's the same sort of jolt I noticed when the District Two cars were attached to ours. It seems likely that the delayed train has finally arrived to join ours. Cato comes to the same conclusion and quickly gathers his clothes and starts to get dressed. My task is somewhat easier, simply requiring me to slip on my dressing gown. I don't know what happened to the belt and I don't have time for more than a quick search.

"You had best go now," says Cato. "The railwaymen are likely to be back at any minute."

"Okay," I reply. "I can't find the belt to my gown. If you see it ... Hey! What are you doing?"

"A parting gift," laughs Cato as he uses the belt of my gown to tie my hands and elbows behind me. "Something to help you to remember our night together. Now, off you go."


	4. Getting even

4\. Getting even

"You sod! I'll get even with you for this," I reply, realising that Cato is just playing. It won't take me long to break free once I'm back in my compartment. I'd do it here if I could be certain I had enough time.

"Goodnight, Katniss. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Cato. I hope you lie awake all night worrying about how I'm going to get my revenge for this."

"Ha ha ha. There's no danger of that disturbing my slumber."

The sound of footsteps and voices further down the train prompts me to run back to my compartment. I struggle a bit with the door, but I'm inside and my door locked before anybody comes into view. I flop down onto my bed while I work away at the knot keeping me restrained. It's not a difficult knot and my hands are soon free. The knot holding my elbows together is harder to reach and I'm getting very tired. So tired that I fall asleep with my elbows still bound. An hour or so later the cramps in my arm wake me and I quickly shake myself free of the belt. I promptly fall back to sleep.

Although I can't have had more than four or five hours sleep in total, I feel wide awake and refreshed. I take a shower to wash off the evidence of last night's activities and I tidy my room as best I can. The belt to the dressing gown is mangled beyond redemption, but I do my best to disguise its misuse.

During the course of my cleaning I discover that what I thought was wooden panel is in fact a small cupboard. Inside the cupboard is a selection of shoes in different sizes and a draw containing an assortment of underwear. I decide to stick with my own shoes, but the underwear is worth rummaging through. I washed and dried my own underwear yesterday evening, but these items are made of much softer material.

There's quite a range to choose from. I quickly pass over a strong sturdy pair of panties that would defy any man to get beyond. At the other extreme is a frilly basque guaranteed to attract the attention of every red-blooded heterosexual male within sight. I make my selection and put on the shirt and trousers I put aside yesterday. By seven o'clock I'm dressed and ready for breakfast.

I walk through to the lounge car. Peeta is already there. He's probably been awake for a couple of hours. There's no sign of Haymitch or Effie.

"Did you sleep well?" I ask Peeta.

"A lot better than I expected," he replies. "It must have been the glass of wine that I had at dinner."

"At least you didn't drink as much as Haymitch," I tease. "Do you think we'll see him any time today?"

"I'm sure we'll see him at some stage. Even if Effie has to drag him out of his room. Anyway, did you sleep all right?"

"Um ... I managed a few hours sleep. It wasn't the most comfortable sleep I've ever had, but I'll get through today."

Effie and Haymitch join us nearly an hour later. By now the train has resumed its journey. The Capitol is only an hour or so away.

Haymitch sits down at the table looking like a bear with a sore head. Effie is looking tired as well, but she is doing her best to disguise it. We start to eat breakfast in silence. Effie is clearly expecting Haymitch to say something, but the only sound he is making is a series of grunts as he woofs down his cereal. His table manners leave a lot to be desired.

"I've been told that we'll be the first of the four trains to arrive in the Capitol," says Effie when it is clear Haymitch isn't going to say anything. "We'll be arriving with the tributes from Districts One and Two. That's unfortunate. Most of the crowd's attention will be directed towards them. The tributes from One and Two are always hot favourites with the crowd."

"Personally, I don't want the crowd's attention," I say.

"Nonsense, Katniss," replies Effie. "We mustn't waste any opportunity to get the crowd's interest. You need to attract sponsors. The more sponsors you have the more help you'll receive once you are inside the arena."

"So, do you have any advice for us?" asks Peeta.

"Smile. Be pleasant. Look as though you're happy to be in the Capitol."

"You're kidding, right?" I laugh. "We get kidnapped from our homes for a murderous contest, and we're expected to be happy about it?"

"That attitude won't help your cause," says Haymitch, finally entering the conversation. "You're at a disadvantage already. Don't make it worse."

"Then it's to be a happy group hug with the tributes from One and Two," I say.

"Hardly," replies Haymitch. "You'll not be allowed within ten metres of the tributes from another district until we're at the training centre. Even then you'll be closely monitored. We need something that will draw the crowd's attention away from the Careers. Can either of you sing or dance?"

I look at Haymitch as though he's stark raving mad. Perhaps he is. "Give me a bow and a quiver of arrows and I'll shoot some squirrels for the entertainment of the crowd," I reply sarcastically.

"Under no circumstances are you to reveal any talents which might be useful inside the arena," replies Haymitch, not rising to the bait.

"Well I guess I can be pleasant and make it look as though I'm happy to be here," replies Peeta.

"Good," replies Haymitch. "What about you, Katniss?"

"I'll think of something," I say sulkily.

"Make sure that you do," replies Haymitch. "Your life may depend on it."

Haymitch proceeds to tell us what he knows about the other tributes while we finish our breakfast. It's not much, although knowing Cato's name before I met him last night might have been useful. But then, Haymitch wasn't to know I'd be playing games in the night. We only just finish eating breakfast when Effie notices that we are only minutes away from arriving.

"Go and freshen up," says Effie to Peeta and I. "We'll be arriving in about five minutes."

I spend an agonising five minutes in my compartment. Despite outward appearances, I've taken Haymitch and Effie's advice to heart. I know the value of sponsors in these Games, and I know I must do everything to draw them to me. We are to spend fifteen minutes on the railway platform before being whisked away to make room for the next train to arrive. Being first is both an opportunity and a curse. Make a good impression and the crowd will compare all other tributes against you. Make a bad impression, or even a mediocre one, and the crowd will have forgotten all about you by the time the last train arrives.

I make a decision. It's something I've never done before and I'm not certain I can pull it off. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. I doubt Effie and Haymitch will approve. I know my mother watching television at home will definitely disapprove. As for Prim and my friends, well I think they'll at least understand.

"Hurry up, Katniss," calls Effie. "We're pulling into the station."

"I'm coming," I call, packing the last of my possessions into the small bag which has been provided for my belongings. According to Effie this bag will be collected and transported into my room in the training centre. I've passed the point of no return. The next fifteen minutes will either prove me to be a silly foolish girl, or it will give me a remote chance of surviving these Games.

Haymitch, Effie and Peeta are already stepping down from the train by the time I catch up with them. I sneak a glance down the train to see the other tributes and their mentors doing the same. There's an enormous crowd on the platform. At least it seems to be well controlled and in good spirits. There's a small section of the platform roped off to allow us space to get off the train and onto the platform. How we are going to get beyond the barrier is a mystery.

A voice over the public address system introduces each tribute by name. I can no longer see the tributes from One and Two through the crowd, but there are plenty of large overhead screens relaying the television broadcast. There's a loud cheer and applause as each of the tributes is named. The announcement is made slowly so as to give each tribute about thirty seconds in the limelight. The tributes from One and Two have clearly been practising their 'happy to be here' routine, although I notice that it's the same one that their predecessors did last year. Predictable and safe. District Twelve is the last to be announced. Peeta makes a good show of being delighted to be here. He smiles and waves to the crowd as though they've all come just to see him. I'm impressed. Then it's my turn.

"Introducing the female tribute from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen!" booms the hidden voice.

I slip off my coat and hand it to Effie. The crowd goes silent for a moment before erupting with a loud gasp, followed by cheers and applause. The frilly basque is delivering all that it promised. I don't smile. I don't wave. I'm too scared to do that. I simply walk up to a few of the people at the front of the crowd and start to shake their hands.

"Please to meet you. I'll hope you'll sponsor me," I say as I shake the hands of as many people as I can manage.

The noise of the crowd and the continuing announcements make conversation impossible. Which suits me fine. I'm running on auto-pilot and I'm too nervous to say more than repeat those handful of words. Finally Effie comes over and puts my coat over my shoulders. I correctly interpret her action as a signal that it's time to leave. I have one last card to play. As I am guided away I blow kisses to the crowd. It's all an act though. I'd rather throw hand grenades at these obnoxious people, but I've done what I can to help me survive.

While I've been busy wooing the crowd our train has departed. The four of us are escorted over the railway tracks to the exit beyond. The parties from Districts One and Two are converging on the same exit. It's as though we're in a race to reach the exit first. So much for Haymitch's ten metre separation rule. The next train will be arriving soon, but for the moment the television cameras are still focused on us.

Cato is only a few metres from me by the time we reach the exit. I catch him ogling at my basque, which is just visible through my open coat. I'm not normally impulsive, but today has already proved to be a day full of new sensations for me.

"Hi Cato," I say as I run over to him. "Do you like what you see?"

I throw my coat wide open and give him an eyeful of what he's already seen in the buff. To anybody watching, though, it's an encounter between strangers. One in which I've succeeded in wrong-footing Cato in front of the television cameras.

"I think that evens the score," I laugh as I close my coat and return to my group before one of Cato's minders can intervene. Cato simply smiles and nods.

"Hey! Haymitch! Keep your slut under control," shouts Cato's mentor to my back.

His attempt to reverse the impact of the incident is too late. The television cameras switched to the newly arriving train seconds after it caught my scene with Cato.

Outside the station we board the waiting vehicles, one for each district's group. Moments later we are on our way to the training centre. Peeta and I sit facing Effie and Haymitch in the back section of the vehicle. Nobody says anything.

"What?" I say when I can no longer bear Haymitch and Effie's silent stares.

"We can discuss this later in the privacy of our suite in the training centre," says Haymitch. "But let's just say that your performance this morning was ... um ..."

"Awesome," says Peeta.


	5. Little hottie

5\. Little hottie.

One of the advantages of being among the first tributes to arrive at the Hunger Games Training Centre is that we have an extra hour to settle in. The suite allocated to the District Twelve tributes and mentors is located on the top floor of the Centre. It's luxurious beyond my wildest imagination. My bedroom is almost as large as our entire house back in District Twelve.

"Effie and I need to attend to a few things," says Haymitch to Peeta and I. "You two settle in and take a look around. Don't leave the suite though. Katniss. I suggest you change into something else. You'll find plenty of clothes in your room. Effie and I will need to have a word with you later about this morning's episode at the railway station."

I'm annoyed at Haymitch's patronising tone but I hold my tongue. I had every intention of changing out of this frilly basque as soon as possible. I didn't need Haymitch to tell me to do that. Unfortunately I can smell a lecture on good moral behaviour brewing. But I can't stay cross for long. I'm still on a high from getting the better of Cato at the station. It was a tiny victory, but an undisputed one. At least Cato had the good grace to acknowledge my coup.

There are so many fancy gadgets in my room it takes me nearly an hour to master them all. I take another shower before changing into a very functional outfit consisting of a matching shirt and trousers. This time I have no problem in locating the plentiful supply of underwear, and there's a selection of shoes suitable for every occasion. Everything is in my size, so clearly that information has been relayed ahead of our arrival.

I've left the television on in the background while I explore the features of my room. The last of the tributes' trains has arrived and the grand party at the railway station is winding up. The last tributes, from Districts Three, Seven and Ten, are already leaving the station. A picture of me wearing my frilly basque is flashed up on screen beside the pictures of three other tributes. I turn up the volume out of curiosity.

"... _The viewer's poll means nothing of course, although it does highlight some interesting things about this year's crop of tributes. For the first time in many years the top four favourite tributes, as voted by you, the viewers in the Capitol, aren't dominated by the tributes from Districts One and Two. In top place we have Thresh from District Eleven. He's built like an ox and must be regarded as a serious contender for the victor's crown. Then there's Marvel from District One. Tall, muscular and oozing with confidence. An unsurprising choice by the viewers. In third place we have Clove from District Two. A lethal looking mixture of beauty and menace. Again a predictable viewers' choice. But the great surprise is the viewers' choice for fourth place. Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve. Slim, graceful and ... well, see for yourselves. What an outfit! A little hott_ _ie_ _to warm the cockles of your heart._ ..."

I blush at the reference to me, although in fairness, what did I expect? Nevertheless I switch this rubbish off and return to my preparations. A minute later there's a knock on my door.

"Katniss. Please will you join us in the lounge," says Effie when I answer the door. "We need to discuss a few things."

Damn. Lecture time. I suppose I had best get this over with. I follow Effie to where Haytmitch is waiting. There's no sign of Peeta. I sit down, doing my best not to look like a school kid knowing a sound telling off is in the wind.

"Did you see the television broadcast just now?" asks Haymitch.

"From the railway station? I saw the last part, yes," I reply.

"So you know what ranking you received in the viewers poll."

"Yes. Fourth. So what? The commentator said the poll means nothing."

"They always say that," replies Haymitch. "It does and it doesn't. It has no bearing on what happens inside the arena, but it's a good indication of which tributes sponsors may favour. Gaining a place in the top four gets you noticed. No District Twelve tribute has ever achieved that before. Well done."

"So you aren't mad at me for wearing the basque?"

"Yes, I'm mad at you, but not for your choice of clothing. I'm mad at you for not warning us before you pulled that stunt. Effie and I are your support team. We can't do our job if you surprise us like that."

"Well you did leave it to me to decide," I retort. "It wasn't something I planned out before hand. I just did what I thought was right at the time."

"Spontaneity," says Effie, as though that one word explains everything.

"Huh?" replies Haymitch.

"I should have realised it before," continues Effie. "Katniss will be at her best when she acts on her instincts."

"And that helps us how?" replies Haymitch.

"It doesn't, but I guess it's as good as it gets," sighs Effie. "Anyway, I think Katniss's prep team will be ready and waiting in the Remake Centre. Come on Katniss. I'll show you the way."

If I'd know what I was being let in for I'd have argued with Haymitch some more. Instead, I'm so relieved at escaping a long lecture that I meekly follow Effie to an adjacent building. Three hours later and I'm approaching the limits of my tolerance. Three hours of being scrubbed, shaved, polished and manicured. The last thing I can cope with is the prospect of yet another round of cleaning. I've had a two showers this morning before I arrived at the Remake Centre. I can't have got that dirty in the intervening time. But there seems to be a problem. Flavius, Venia and Octavia, the three members of my prep team, are flapping around me like a flock of birds. In fairness they have done a great job at removing years of ingrained grime and coal dust from my hair and skin. For the first time in my life my hair really shines, my skin actually looks smooth, and my finger nails are all an even length. But there's definitely something worrying them.

"What's the problem?" I ask, deciding the direct approach may yield an answer.

"Um ... nothing. Nothing," replies Flavius, clearly not used to lying. "Cinna will be here in a short while. He'll discuss everything with you. I think we're done here, team."

"Yes," agrees Octavia. "You're beautiful Katniss. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. We'll see you later. Just lie there and relax."

I sit up despite Octavia's instructions to the contrary. I can't get over the fact that I have a stylist ... Cinna ... and a prep team of three, dedicated to my beautification and wardrobe. To my mind it's a total waste of effort. In four days time, I and the other twenty three tributes will be thrown into the Hunger Games arena to fight to the death. Spotless skin and custom made clothing isn't going to help anyone once the fighting starts.

"Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna," comes a pleasant voice from behind me. I make a move to get up and greet him, but he rests his hand on my shoulder to prevent me from doing so. "We need to discuss your wardrobe for the parade later this afternoon, and for the rest of this week. Have you eaten?"

"Only a couple of biscuits when we first arrived here at the Training Centre. But I had a good breakfast on the train."

"There's no shortage of food here," says Cinna, typing some instructions into a small device. "We'll be here for a while, and then we'll need to assemble for the parade. It's going to be a long wait until dinner tonight. We can't have you fainting from hunger."

"Thanks," I reply, not really relishing the prospect of spending another hour of being fussed over.

"It's my job to make sure that your wardrobe matches your personality. To achieve that I need to ask a few personal questions. And I need you to answer those honestly. Do you understand?"

"Um ... yeah. Sure," I reply.

The food tray Cinna ordered arrives almost at once and I proceed to devour the meal. Cinna waits until I've finished before launching into his questions. They are easy to answer questions and centre around my pet likes and dislikes. Then he throws in a completely unexpected question.

"Are you sexually active?" he asks.

"What? No," I reply instinctively. It's not exactly a lie. Apart from last night with Cato on board the train, my sexual encounters haven't amounted to more than some kissing and light touching.

"Um ... are you sure?" replies Cinna, clearly not believing me.

"What do you mean? Is there a problem?" I say trying to bluster my way out of answering his question.

"While Flavius and the team were preparing you, they noticed some evidence that you've had sex within the last twenty four hours," says Cinna clinically. "What I need to know is whether that is likely to be repeated."

"Errr ... I don't know. I didn't exactly plan what happened last night. Do you need to know the details?"

"No, that's your private business. I'm not here to judge you. All I'm interested in is providing you with clothes suitable for all your activities while you are here in the Training Centre. I presume Effie and Haymitch know about what happened last night?"

"Um ... well, Effie gave me some contraceptives," I reply. It's the truth, but not the answer to Cinna's question.

"Okay. Let's work on the basis that you might be involved in some form of sexual activity over the next few days."

"You won't tell anyone else, will you?"

"No, of course not," replies Cinna. "Please understand that we are all here to support you. We're all on your side."

Despite his placating words, I'm fretting about our conversation while we try on my costume for this afternoon's parade. I only half-listen to his instructions. Before I know it, Cinna is escorting me to where the other tributes are waiting in the assembly area for the parade. Once again the tributes are able to mingle, although there are several uniformed guards keeping a close watch in case of any attempted foul play. I catch a glimpse of Cato on the far side of the area and he gives me a quick wink in recognition.

Along one wall of the assembly area are twenty four labelled lockers to enable each tribute to store anything they don't need during the parade. Cinna gave me a shawl in case the late afternoon breeze proved too cold when we've finished. I can't wear it during the parade as it would interfere with my costume, so I place it in my locker. Peeta and I mount our district's chariot and the parade gets underway.

An hour later Peeta and I are back at this spot excitedly recalling the brilliance of Cinna's costumes and the crowd's reaction to the fake flames that highlighted our journey along the parade route. It's a huge publicity coup for Cinna and District Twelve. We were positioned at the end of the parade, so some of the other tributes have already left for their suites by the time we return. I had hoped to see Cato again, but he's one of those who have already left. I remember my shawl at the last minute and dash to retrieve it from my locker.

Tied to the handle of my locker is a short length of material. I instantly recognise it as a length cut from the belt of one of the dressing gowns provided on the train. Not my dressing gown, though. Someone else's gown. Pinned to the end of the material is a tiny slip of paper with the words 'Same time. Here.'

Cato! He wants to meet me again. That's the only interpretation I can put on the source and meaning of the message. My heart misses a couple of beats and my head begins to swirl. Then I calm down and consider the risks. How sure am I that the message is from Cato? What if it's a trap? Should I tell someone before I come here later tonight? There's no doubt in my mind that I will be keeping this rendezvous.

"Is everything okay?" asks Peeta who has been patiently waiting for my return.

"Yes. Yes. The lock was a bit tricky. That's all," I reply, hiding the cloth and message under my wrap. I join Peeta and we return to our suite where Effie and Haymitch are already waiting.

A sumptuous meal follows together with a lot of self-congratulations for our success with the parade. My mind isn't really focusing on the celebrations. I'm watching the clock, and mentally working out what to wear for my meeting with Cato.


	6. A cryptic message

6\. A cryptic message.

I don't know the exact time I met Cato last night. In my confused state of sexual arousal and sleeplessness, making a note of the time when I left my compartment wasn't high on my must-do list. Of course, I had I known I'd want that snippet of information tonight, I would have recorded the exact time. I've managed to narrow the time down to a twenty minute time slot. I recall noticing the time when Peeta and I left Effie at dinner, and I remember a clock chiming midnight while I was with Cato. My estimate isn't perfect, but it'll have to do.

I make an excuse to leave tonight's dinner just before ten o'clock. Peeta has already gone to bed. As a baker's son he's used to a routine of early to bed and early to rise. Haymitch has been limiting his alcohol consumption tonight, but he's still out for the count on the couch when I get up from the table. Effie doesn't protest at my departure. I suspect she needs to attend to more of those administrative tasks that seem to fill her spare time.

I enter my room to find a range of clothing laid out on my bed. I didn't notice anybody arrive with them while we were dining, but that means nothing. The servants who attend to our comfort move silently about the place. Each item of clothing is carefully wrapped, and the larger ones are ready to hang in the wardrobe. They're beautiful. Cinna's creations, obviously. He must have been working on these the whole time Peeta and I were at the parade. I examine a few in more detail, trying to decide whether I dare risk wearing one for my secret meeting tonight. Of course I should. Cinna said these clothes were for all my activities here ... even the more intimate ones.

I start with the underwear and quickly see what Cinna had in mind when he asked whether I was sexually active. The lacy underwear included among the more traditional garments is clearly there for only one purpose. I select what I want and move onto the other garments. I put the formal dresses into my wardrobe and focus my attention on the four casual outfits. What would Cato like to see me wearing? No. Scrub that question. I know the answer to that and I'm not going to walk through the Training Centre in a state of undress.

I make my choice based on the ease by which each outfit can be removed and put back on. Not that I'm necessarily expecting that to happen, but it's best to be prepared. To be honest, I'm not certain I want to go as far as we did last night. On the train we had a degree of privacy. Here in the Training Centre nearly everywhere is monitored by security cameras or uniformed guards. Even the suites have security cameras in the living areas. I only have Haymitch's word that there's no hidden camera inside my room.

Sneaking out of the suite shouldn't present too much of a problem. Effie is busy working, and Haymitch and Peeta are asleep. Getting to the assembly area below the Remake Centre might be more tricky. There should be guards and cameras watching the whole route. My best strategy is to walk there as though I've every right to do so. Sneaking about is only going to look suspicious and attract unwanted attention.

I reach the ground floor of the Centre and walk towards the corridor leading to the assembly area. I pass a couple of guards, but neither challenges my presence. I'm not so lucky with the third guard.

"May I help you, miss?" asks the guard in a way that clearly indicates that he really means 'what are you doing here?'

"Um ... I left something in my locker in the assembly area," I say, reciting the excuse I had prepared for just this occasion.

"The assembly area is closed for tonight," replies the guard. "You can retrieve your missing item in the morning."

"Oh, okay," I say, doing my best to hide my disappointment. "Is it all right if I take a walk along here anyway."

"I guess so," replies the guard. "Everywhere is locked up, though. There's no other exit open at this time of night."

"That's okay. Thanks," I reply, setting off along the corridor on the off chance Cato is here somewhere.

I'm half way down the corridor when I realise that it is highly unlikely that Cato will be here. The guard would have seen him and thought it suspicious if two tributes were trying to get to the assembly area at the same time. Nevertheless I walk as far as the assembly area door and pause for a minute or so. There's no sign of Cato. Perhaps I'm too early. Or perhaps Cato has been and gone, abandoning our meeting when he realised the area is locked up.

I can't stay too long, or the guard at the entrance to the corridor will become suspicious. I'm about to abandon my wait when I see a small piece of dressing gown belt on the floor by the door. It could easily be mistaken for a piece of someone's costume that has dropped off after the parade. But the pattern on the material is unmistakable.

I pick up the piece and examine it. Unlike last time there's no note pinned to the material. I nevertheless check it carefully in case there's a hidden message. It could be a laundry mark, but 'TR8' is written on one side of the material. If it's a message from Cato then it's one whose meaning is lost on me. I put the material into my pocket and walk back to the end of the corridor.

"Goodnight, miss," says the guard.

"Er ... Goodnight," I reply, surprised that the guard has spoken to me. "Can you tell me how to get to TR8?"

"Training Room Eight? Certainly, miss. Keen for a bit of late night training, are you?"

"Er ... Not really. I thought I'd check out the training rooms while I'm up."

The guard promptly gives me directions to the training rooms. Room eight in particular. I resist the temptation to run there. The training rooms are located in the basement of the main building and it only takes me a couple of minutes to get there. The automatic lights come on as I walk along the corridor towards room eight. Like all the access points in the Training Centre, the doors are controlled by a small panel at the side of the door which can be opened by placing my hand on the panel. The door to room eight is closed and I place my hand on the panel. It promptly displays my name and district, presumably using the data from the scan they gave us all when we first arrived this morning. I remove my hand from the panel and wait for the door to unlock.

Unfortunately the door doesn't open. Instead the panel displays a message 'Room in use. Place hand on panel for four seconds to request entry'. I hope it is Cato who is inside the room, so I do as the instructions say and place my hand on the panel. So much for a secret meeting.

'Please wait' flashes on the panel, followed a few moments later with an 'Access approved. Push door to enter'.

I enter the room and look about. It's a large room with a range of fitness equipment arranged along one wall. To my right is a line of chairs facing into the room. Despite what the message on the door said, there's no sign that anybody is using this room, let alone Cato.

I walk across the room to see if there are any hidden nooks and crannies that I can't see from the door. There's nothing unusual. The room is a plain rectangle with only one door. There are no screens or other items large enough to block my view. Unless Cato is hiding from me. Yes. That's what I bet he's doing. He's testing me. Some of the equipment could provide enough cover for someone crouching or lying down. But they would be a poor choice of hiding place. A simple stroll around the room would unearth my quarry. There's too much open space for Cato to change locations without being seen. Which means ...

I look up and I'm immediately rewarded by the sight of Cato standing on a narrow platform about three metres above floor level. The platform runs along the edge of the room for its entire length. At a guess, I'd say it's used as an observation platform. I can't see a way up there though.

"Are you coming down, or am I expected to come up there?" I call to Cato, treating the whole thing as a game rather than what I suspect is a test of my abilities.

"I'll come down," says Cato, walking to a point on the platform slightly to the left of the door below. It's only then that I notice the ladder rungs recessed into the wall. The ladder is painted so as to disguise its presence. I've no idea why.

Cato soon joins me and we stand facing each other for a while, uncertain whether we should touch. I'm sure there's at least one security camera scanning us, and a hidden watcher who will have a squad of guards here in a moment if there is any physical contact between us. I suppose we should be grateful that the television cameras aren't allowed inside this building.

"Would you like to train together?" asks Cato.

"I'm hardly dressed for that," I say. Perhaps I should have selected one of the training outfits in my wardrobe after all.

"Neither am I. In ancient times athletes used to train and compete without any clothes on at all."

"Well, don't let me stop you," I reply.

"Spoilsport," laughs Cato, who promptly strips off his outer clothes, leaving him standing in his underpants. He walks over to the large exercise mat and proceeds to do somersaults and other gymnastic moves. I'm impressed. He's fit and strong. And very desirable. I can't stand around and do nothing. Watching him is having a definite effect on me and giving me amorous thoughts.

I only wait a minute or so before taking off my blouse, skirt and stockings. My lacy undergarments aren't really suitable wear for gymnastics, but I've no intention of performing nude. I join Cato on the mat and I'm secretly delighted when my arrival throws him completely out of his rhythm.

I'm hoping the security camera watching us can't detect the cunning features of my bra and pants. The subtle slits and folds make the pieces look whole from a distance. But Cato has a close up view and my movements let him get glimpses of the more intimate parts of my body. I soon realise from the swelling in his pants that I'm having the desired effect. That in turn drives me to be more adventurous in my movements. Our only problem is what to do about our mounting arousal.

Five more minutes of exercise has both of us in an almost reckless state of desire. So far we have been careful not to come too close to each other. The last thing we need is a guard arriving to impose the no-touching rule.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up," says Cato.

"Oh, I don't know. It still looks pretty rigid from what I can see," I reply, deliberately misinterpreting his comment. He's right, though. I'm driving myself crazy with lust and I'll either need to stop or go to the next level pretty soon. Besides, it's getting late, and we have a full day of training tomorrow.

"We'll have to come up with a better meeting place next time," says Cato, halting his routine and turning towards me.

"I doubt there will be anywhere that we'll be free from surveillance," I reply.

"Then we'll just have to make out in full view of our watchers."

"No," I reply firmly. "I'm not having sex with you while someone might be watching. Besides, we'd be forcibly torn apart and denied any ability to be with each other until we enter the arena. We must find somewhere private."

"Well, you're the clever one," replies Cato. "What do you suggest?"

"Why do you say that I'm the clever one?" I ask. "We wouldn't have seen each other tonight had you not discovered this room and left me a message."

"My part in arranging tonight's meeting was nearly a disaster," replies Cato. "I should have guessed that the assembly area would be locked up at night. You're the clever one for finding and understanding my cryptic message. I didn't dare leave anything more obvious in case someone else discovered it. Anyway, unless you can think of somewhere we can go to make out, I suggest we head back to our suites."

"I think I need a shower first," I reply. "You look as though you could do with one as well."


	7. A shower for two

7\. A shower for two.

At first Cato seems puzzled by my sudden interest in cleanliness. Our suites, complete with luxury en-suite bathrooms, are only a few minutes walk away. I'm relying on something I noticed earlier this afternoon when I had occasion to use the toilet. We leave the training room and I lead Cato to the nearest rest rooms. As I thought, they are not gender specific, and privacy to the individual facilities is controlled by one of the palm-print panels which seem standard throughout the Training Centre. Importantly, there are no security cameras in here. Each rest room comes complete with a shower unit, inside which is a small changing room and the shower itself.

By now, Cato understands what I'm planning. I place my hand on the panel outside the shower and the door unlocks. Cato does the same with one of the toilet cubicles. Then Cato and I quickly dart inside the shower unit. There's a risk that Cato's failure to enter the toilet cubicle has been detected by the security system, but it's a risk worth taking.

We take our time stripping off our clothes, enjoying our opportunity to be intimate. There isn't a lot of space since this unit is only designed for one person. After several minutes I feel the need for a bit of room in order to catch my breath. I step back into the shower itself. I hadn't anticipated the water starting automatically and I let out an involuntary yelp of surprise. Cato laughs as he joins me under the pleasantly warm water. He reaches for the controls to start the flow of soap. We may as well be clean as we bring each other back to the heady heights of passion and lust.

I lean forward to kiss Cato on the mouth while his hands are busy roaming over my body. For some reason he doesn't like kissing. It was the same yesterday, on board the train. Cato allows me to kiss him, but he only responds in a very half hearted way. I must ask him why when I get the chance. But not now. We are both reaching that magic point where we can no longer control of desire.

Then our slippery wet bodies become so entwined that anyone watching us ... which I hope there isn't ... would mistake us for a single body. My only regret is that our union is so brief. A 'quickie' I believe it is called. Our haste is partly due to the need to be out of here before we attract suspicion, but also because Cato is already so aroused that he barely enters me before he spills his seed. I have no regrets about coming here tonight, but it could have been so much more if we had been able to plan it better. Unfortunately, in our current circumstances, we must content ourselves with these snatched interludes.

The water stops as suddenly as it started. Warm air blows down on us to dry us. The combination of Cato's attentions and the warm air send new sensations rippling through my body. Although the main event has passed, we still enjoy a few more moments of closeness while we dry. All too soon it's time to get dressed. It is difficult for both of us to get dressed at the same time so I allow Cato to dress first. Then he hands me each item of my clothing in turn so I can dress. It's a striptease act in reverse.

"Why don't you like kissing me?" I ask Cato as I dress under his watchful eye.

"Because we aren't lovers," replies Cato. "Kissing is something that you do with someone you want to romance and love. I like you. I like you a lot. But I don't love you. I cannot allow myself to have any romantic feelings towards you. In four days time we enter the arena. We might find ourselves in a situation where one of us may need to kill the other in order to survive. There's no future for the two of us beyond the next few days. Our liaison is one simply driven by animal need. Admit it. You came here simply because you wanted sex."

"That's untrue," I say. "Yes, I wanted sex, but I came for other reasons as well. I was curious and ..."

"Curious?" says Cato, interrupting me. "About what?"

"I was curious as to why you wanted to meet me alone tonight. Last night you said that you simply wanted to deflower a virgin. You accomplished your mission with my willing participation. I think we both achieved what we were seeking last night. So why did you leave me the note indicating that you wanted to meet tonight?"

"To see what your reaction would be, and whether you are smart enough to follow my trail."

"I see. So you were testing me in order to gauge my tracking skills? You simply wanted information which might prove useful inside the Hunger Games arena. So, you regard what we just did in the shower as a bonus, then? But why tell me this now?"

"A very appreciated bonus, nonetheless. As for telling you now, I promised that I wouldn't lie to you. I make a habit of keeping my word."

"That's very noble of you Cato," I laugh. "Unfortunately for you, your ability to tell a convincing lie is not as good as some of your other skills."

"What lie am I being accused of telling?"

"What you've told me tonight has been a lie. Well, apart from what you said about the sex, perhaps. You certainly seemed to appreciate that. It's simple really. You claim that our meeting was a trick to test my tracking skills. But that only makes sense if you already knew the assembly area would be locked up at night when you left the message by my locker. Otherwise you'd have expected us to meet in the assembly area as arranged. However you also claim that you didn't know the assembly area would be locked up. Which is it?"

Cato goes silent. He obviously realises the contradiction in his story. So much for his promise to tell the truth. Perhaps he was lying last night when he said I wasn't drugged when we met. It's possible I was, but it's equally possible that it was my own hormones causing the pleasant effect. I've no real desire to trawl through the rights and wrongs of that meeting. What remaining time we have is too precious.

"Don't sulk," I say to Cato as we leave the shower unit and return to the main corridor. "I'm not angry, but don't insult my intelligence again. The sex was good. If you want to do it again, then you know where I am."

"Yeah. The sex was good. Next time you can make the arrangements."

"Okay," I say, pleased that Cato has agreed to continue our clandestine affair.

"You said that you came to find me tonight out of curiosity," says Cato. "You were about to add another reason before I cut you off. What was the other reason for coming to meet with me?"

"An act of rebellion. The gamemakers try to control us, and ... let's face it ... they generally succeed. Our mentors try to control what the gamemakers don't. Each tribute is little more than a prisoner waiting for execution day. Sure, we are well fed and pampered with fine clothes. Our cells may be comfortable but they are cells nonetheless. It helps me to keep my sanity and independence if I can rebel against their rules."

"I don't think I've ever met anybody like you," says Cato. "I feel the same. I'm supposed to be spending tonight studying the profiles of all the other tributes. Not that there's much to study just yet. Once our training sessions get underway then Brutus, my mentor, will gather all sorts of information about each tribute. Information Clove and I are expected to memorise."

"Well, your mentor can't really complain. You've been a good boy and spent you time studying your competition tonight. At least one tribute in particular. What does your profile on me say?"

"Hah! Let's see if I can remember. Ah yes. Katniss Everdeen, District Twelve. Age 16. Volunteered to prevent her 12 year old sister, Primrose, from being reaped. Shows a tendency towards slutty behaviour. Not considered to be a serious threat."

"Slutty behaviour?" I ask. "Because of what I did at the railway station?"

"Probably," replies Cato. "Let's face it, there hasn't been a lot of opportunity for gathering information about the other tributes so far."

"Unless there are others like us," I reply. "Wouldn't it be a laugh if all the tributes paired off."

"Can't see that happening. I'd pity the poor fool who ended up with Clove."

"So what do you think that you've learned about me tonight?" I ask.

"Ha! You're not tricking me with that question," laughs Cato. "Let's just say that I'm glad your tracking skills aren't too bad."

"Not too bad?" I reply. "Is that all you'd rate my ability to find you tonight?"

"Well it took you nearly half an hour to find me."

I'm about to dispute Cato's estimate of the time, but I hold my tongue at the last second. Of course, Cato doesn't know that I was unsure about our scheduled meeting time, so he believes I took longer to find him than I did in reality. He's tricked me into revealing something about my skills, so I'll let him draw the wrong conclusion. I'll need to be more careful in future, though.

We take the elevator to the accommodation suites, being careful with our behaviour now that we are once more under surveillance. The District Two suite is only a few floors up, while mine is at the top. Cato gets out first and risks a quick squeeze of my hand as he leaves me.

"See you at training tomorrow, Katniss," Cato says as he leaves.

A few moments later I'm back inside the District Twelve suite. Nobody is about and the lights are dimmed. I begin to wonder whether Effie and Haymitch realise that I'm not already sleeping soundly in my bed. I walk quietly to my room and get undressed ready for bed. For the second night running I sleep naked and for the same reason. I'm still in a heightened state of arousal. Tonight's coupling was over too quickly and failed to leave me in the pleasant satisfied state that I achieved last night. But what am I going to do about it?

I've a full day of training tomorrow, so I'll need to get some sleep. Although it's nearly midnight I'm not very sleepy and I need to come down from the heavens. I turn on the entertainment console besides my bed, intending to browse the options to find something that will help me to sleep. The television screen immediately displays a programme about the Hunger Games. That's hardly surprising. At this time of year there's rarely anything else on. It's an interactive show with viewers invited to send in their questions about the Hunger Games for an 'expert panel' to answer. I've seen these sorts of programmes at home, but we haven't the technology in District Twelve to send in a question. It suddenly dawns on me that no such restriction applies here.

I watch the programme for about twenty minutes while the panel answers questions about a whole range of topics. Then, out of mischief, I decide to send in a question. The console by my bed is easy enough to operate and sending my question is quite simple. I get an automated message acknowledging my question and I sit back and wait.

I don't know how many questions are sent in, or whether they all get put to the panel. I presume there is some form of vetting process. I'm getting tired and I'm almost at the point of giving up and going to sleep. Then my question pops up on the screen, which the presenter reads out aloud.

"We have a question from Kat," says the presenter. "It's an unusual one. Has there ever been an instance of two tributes from different districts making out instead of fighting each other?"

"By making out, I presume you mean having sex," begins the first member of the panel pompously. "Of course not. There was one year when the two tributes from the same district were romantically involved before the reaping. But it's inconceivable that two tributes from different districts would be involved in that way."

"I disagree," interrupts the second panel member. "There was an instance during the 68th Games when the girl from District Six ... I think ... had a sexual arrangement with the boy from District One."

"She was from District Eight," adds the third panel member. "Besides, that hardly counts. She traded sex for being allowed to live after she was caught by the Careers. Not that it did her any good. He killed her anyway after he'd amused himself for a while."

"Humph! It's an impossible situation anyway," says the first panel member.

"I disagree," says the third panel member.


	8. Funny business

8\. Funny business.

"The Hunger Games throws twenty four young people together every year," continues the third panel member. "Most tributes are normal district kids. They're a typical cross section of their society. As we know, life is less civilised in the districts, and raw animal urges are closer to the surface of everyday life. It's not inconceivable for those urges to come to the fore among the tributes once in a while."

"Rubbish," scoffs the first panel member. "The tributes' mentors wouldn't allow such a liaison to occur. Not to mention that the gamemakers would certainly prevent it. Besides, no tribute in their right mind would embark on such a dangerous course of action."

"All I'm saying is that it could happen," persists the third panel member. "Dangerous or not."

"Piffle," snorts the first panel member in derision. "I'll put my money where my mouth is. Twenty thousand in sponsorship to any tribute I see passionately kissing a tribute from another district in front of the television cameras. No stage managed scenes, though. I mean a show of genuine affection which the other tribute returns."

"Well, well, well," says the presenter. "There's a turn up for the books. We'd best move onto our next question. It's from ..."

I switch off the television and think about what the man with too much money for his own good has said. Twenty thousand is a huge amount to offer. I can't comprehend what level of support that would buy inside the arena. Certainly it would buy far more than a bowl of soup, or some ointment or cream to tend to any wounds. That sort of money could buy the gamemakers favour. A bribe to persuade the gamemakers to interfere in the lucky tribute's interest at a critical time, or at least, not to interfere against them.

My state of arousal has subsided and sleep eventually catches up with me. The next thing I know it is morning. I rudely awoken by the alarm clock ringing. I don't recall setting the alarm, so I presume Effie or Haymitch have programmed the clock to wake me at six o'clock. I quickly wash and shower and dress in a loose fitting outfit which Cinna has obviously designed for lounging around the suite. There's plenty of time before I need to change into the training uniform provided by the gamemakers. I decide that the uniform will be the only clothing I'll be wearing over the next few days which hasn't been designed by Cinna.

"Good morning," I say as I enter the dining area. Peeta, Haymitch and Effie have just started their breakfast.

"Good morning," replies Peeta. Effie mumbles something which could be 'good morning'.

All through the meal, Effie and Haymitch give me a disapproving look which probably indicates that I'm in trouble again. What now? I refuse to let their frosty looks spoil my breakfast. It's obviously something which they don't want Peeta to overhear, or they'd have launched into a tirade before now. Once we've done eating, Haymitch sends Peeta off on some unnecessary mission. Peeta's clever enough to realise why he's being sent from the room.

"Where were you last night?" asks Haymitch once Peeta is out of earshot.

"I had dinner here with you and then I went out for a walk," I reply, refusing to be intimidated by Haymitch's attitude.

"According to the security log you took a walk lasting the best part of two hours," says Haymitch.

"Yeah. That sounds about right. What am I being accused of doing now?" I ask.

"That's a long walk. Where did you go?" asks Haymitch, ignoring my question.

"I found the training rooms and decided to work out. And I took a shower afterwards if you must know."

"Was anyone else there with you?" asks Haymitch. Since he knows to ask the question, I'm sure he already knows the answer.

"Yes," I reply. "One of the other tributes was working out as well. Are you spying on me?"

"We're only keeping an eye on your movements for your own safety," says Effie. "The security system isn't foolproof and some tributes might try to take advantage. It isn't safe for you to be wandering alone around the Training Centre late at night."

"Nowhere is safe for me from now on. Actually, it never has been safe for me anywhere," I reply, recalling my thoughts on board the train about safety.

"Who was the other tribute?" persists Haymitch.

"The security log has undoubtedly told you who it was already," I reply. "Why do you need me to tell you that it was Cato from District Two?"

"He could have lied about his identity," replies Haymitch. "I take it he didn't try any funny business with you?"

"He tried to trick me into revealing some of my skills," I reply.

"That's to be expected from a Career," says Effie. "What Haymitch means is did Cato try to intimidate you or touch you in an inappropriate way?"

"Oh that! Yeah. We stripped naked and made out like there was no tomorrow."

"I'm being serious," says Haymitch. "I presume by your flippant answer that nothing happened that we need to be concerned about."

"There's nothing for you to worry about. Cato didn't do anything I couldn't handle, and I don't think he gained all that much knowledge of my skills. I did learn a few things about him in exchange, anyway."

"Good. Okay then," says Haymitch. "You had best get changed for the first training session. It begins in twenty five minutes."

Peeta is waiting with Haymitch by the entrance to our suite by the time that I'm ready. My mind is already working on possible ways that Cato and I can be alone together. Last night in the shower was okay, but it could have been better. Besides, we'd be taking a gamble on an alert security guard becoming suspicious if we make out at the same location twice.

Peeta and I are one of the last pairs of tributes to arrive even though the training sessions don't begin for another ten minutes. I soon realise why most of the others are early. Apart from the compulsory training subjects, for which forty minute sessions run repeatedly, the other subjects have infrequent sessions which are limited to between two and six people at a time. Getting your name down on the list early is essential if you want to be certain of receiving training in a particular subject. I study the list of subjects and sessions for this morning and I notice that four of the optional ones are already fully booked. Hopefully they'll be repeated during this afternoon's sessions. There are five compulsory subjects each of which we must attend at least once over the next day and a half. Failure to do so will result in a lower score when we are assessed by the gamemakers tomorrow afternoon. I suspect all of the compulsory subjects only provide training at a very basic level. More advanced training is available through the optional subjects.

Peeta and I take a few minutes to walk around to assess which sessions we might wish to join. We decide to take the first one together, but after that to go our separate ways. While we don't discuss our individual preferences, it's likely we'll each want to focus on different skills. We manage to take the last two spaces on the first woodcraft session. This is one of the compulsory subjects. It's all routine stuff as far as I'm concerned, but I remember Haymitch's warning against revealing my skills. I pretend to be a novice at this. I may have fooled some of the other tributes, but I suspect the trainer is more than aware of my proficiency.

The next session is more difficult to choose. The various sessions are spread over all eight training rooms. Equipment is laid out for all the different subjects, even though there may not be a session scheduled at the current time. The compulsory sessions are in Training Rooms Five and Six; the weapons training in rooms Three, Four and Seven; and the other sessions in rooms One, Two and Eight. It means the twenty four tributes are quite spread out and there's little interaction between us. It also restricts the opportunity to observe who attends which sessions, so only limited information can be learned about the performance of the other tributes. The mentors aren't allowed inside the training rooms, although most of them hover about in the main corridor. Haymitch isn't to be seen, so I presume he's felt the need for a drink.

There are plenty of different weapons training sessions during the morning. To be honest, I'd rather avoid all of those. I'm proficient with a bow and arrow, and I've handled a knife while hunting. How I'll manage with human beings for targets is another matter, but these training sessions won't help with that problem. I couldn't bring myself to handle a sword or a spear. Peeta signs up for the only sword training session scheduled for this morning, and I leave him to it. I walk around the different rooms and see several trainers who are hoping to attract tributes to their sessions. Several have no tributes at all so far. Fishing doesn't seem very popular, probably because there's no guarantee there will be anywhere to fish once we're inside the arena. I've only a couple of minutes before the next session starts, so I must choose quickly.

"Ah! There you are, Katniss," calls Cato when I step into room One. "There's a vacancy on this next session here. Come on."

I'm intrigued as to what session Cato has suggested that I attend. I wander over to where he's waiting. A cardboard sign by the area allocated for this session simply says ropecraft. I've no idea what that entails, other than it presumably involves using ropes in some fashion. Although equipment for other training subjects is laid out ready, there doesn't seem to be any other sessions scheduled in this room at this time. It's too late for me to go to another room to choose a different session, so I place my palm on the small device which registers my attendance at this session. Cato does likewise.

There's just the two of us attending this session and the trainer seems disappointed that there aren't more. I estimate that there are about twelve different sessions scheduled for this time slot, so two tributes works out as an average attendance. Actually, it's better than average, since many tributes are likely to do the compulsory subjects first in case they need to attend a repeat session later. The trainer begins talking about the different sorts of rope, and how to recognise them. I find the subject interesting although I'm not certain how useful it's going to be inside the arena. Unless Cato is planning on tying me up again ... or vice versa. Certainly the knots the trainer shows us are much harder to work loose compared to Cato's effort with my dressing gown belt on board the train.

"Was there any fallout from our meeting last night?" asks Cato when we finally get to do some practical work.

"A bit, but I dealt with it," I reply. "What about you?"

"My mentor blew a fuse and gave me a lecture about needing to tell him where I am going. It seems he actually checks the security logs relating to Clove and I. He wanted to know why I needed to spend half and hour in the toilet last night."

"What did you tell him?" I laugh. "A bad dose of constipation?"

"That I fell asleep. I'm not certain he believed me. I wouldn't if I was him. But there's not much he can do about it other than keep a closer eye on me. Fortunately he doesn't seem to have access to the log recording your movements."

"Haymitch knew you were with me in the training room," I say.

"Are you sure? Or was he just guessing?" asks Cato. "The door log might have told him someone was already in the training room when you arrived, but I'd be surprised if he was told that it was me. The gamemakers are very careful about what information is released to the mentors."

I think back to my conversation with Haymitch. Perhaps I over-estimated the extent of his knowledge. He implied that he knew it was Cato who was in the training room with me, but he may have been pretending. He certainly didn't know Cato was in the rest rooms at the same time as me, or he'd have been even more suspicious. I wish I knew what information he is able to access so Cato and I can continue our liaison undisturbed.

"So, have you worked out when and where we can meet unobserved?" asks Cato.

"Yes," I reply.


	9. Ridiculed and intimidated

9\. Ridiculed and intimidated.

Cato has left it to me to organise our next secret meeting, where we can once again enjoy the wild passion that he and I seem able to spark in each other. My idea is to use the muddle and confusion during the training sessions to enable Cato and I to spend half an hour by ourselves. So far my idea lacks sufficient detail to call it a plan. Our meeting place needs to be somewhere where the chances of discovery are fairly low. It's a gamble on several fronts, but fortune favours the brave, as they say.

"Can you persuade the other Careers to join us at a training session later this morning, or early this afternoon, in Training Room Four?" I ask Cato. "It'll need to be a session that can take all five of us."

"Hmmm, that should be possible," replies Cato. "The four of us normally train together. My presence here now is simply because the crossbow training session could only take three tributes at a time. Room Four is combat training, you realise? I can't promise you'll not be ridiculed and intimidated by the other Careers."

"I'm relying on it," I reply. "In fact, I want you to do so as well. Let me know which session you can arrange. I'll be in room Five or Six for the next session or two."

The trainer walks over to where Cato and I are practising tying knots. We halt our conversation and behave like two tributes from different districts are supposed to behave. I look at my handiwork and compare it to Cato's work. Both of us seem to have mastered the various knots. I must remember not to allow Cato to tie me up again.

The session ends and to my surprise I feel as though I've learned something useful. I promise myself not to dismiss some of the other subjects quite as readily as I did earlier. Cato and I part company for now. I go to find a session for one of the compulsory subjects which still has a vacant slot. There's a choice, so I pick the one on first aid in room Six. I know some basic first aid already. It's essential knowledge while out hunting alone in the woods at home. It's just that I get a bit squeamish when I'm tending to wounds ... especially my own.

Once again, the compulsory training is fairly basic stuff, but I pick up a few useful tips. There's a more advanced first aid session among the optional subjects but I'll probably give that a miss. For those who have pre-booked their sessions, the five minute break between sessions is a chance to grab a quick drink or to answer a call of nature. For me it's a matter of finding a new session to attend. Sometimes I feel I should be more organised, but somehow I feel more comfortable doing things on the spur of the moment. Cato tracks me down in the main corridor while I'm assessing my options for this next session.

"The session after this next one," says Cato, as we walk close enough together so as not to be overheard, but not too close that would attract suspicion. I notice his mentor, Brutus, is watching Cato carefully. "The five of us are booked for the judo session in Room Four. I hope you know what you're doing."

I don't really, but I'm feeling quite rebellious and the prospect of outsmarting the gamemakers' rules has a huge appeal. The thought of being alone with Cato has an even greater appeal. I've never done judo before, so I'm already at a disadvantage against the Careers. If my plan works though, then I'll not be doing more than ten minutes of it today.

"Thanks. Follow my lead when we get there," I quickly reply as we go our separate ways again.

The prospect of doing judo in the last session before lunch prompts me to join the unarmed combat session in Room Five during this session. It also means that I'll have done three of my five compulsory subjects already. To my surprise I'm the only tribute attending this session. It's possibly due to the choice of optional subjects available during this time-slot. Two of the sessions which were fully booked before we started this morning are being run now.

Being the only tribute here doesn't present a problem. As with all training sessions involving contact with another person, the gamemakers provide sparring partners rather than allow two tributes to come into physical contact with each other. I've done a short self defence course at school, and this session provides me with a good refresher, as well as teach me a few extra moves. Again, though, it's all basic level training. My next session is intended to take my skills to the next level.

The trainer seems impressed by my performance although I didn't realise I was doing anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps she compliments all those she's trained in order to boost their confidence. I use the five minute break at the end of the session to get a drink and freshen up. It's a rush, but I get to the judo session in Room Four with a minute or so to spare. The four Careers are already here and they seem surprised to see me. Even Cato acts surprised to disguise whatever may come next in my plan. My first gamble has paid off. Haymitch said that the Careers normally train as a pack, and all the other tributes give them a wide berth. He went as far as to say that no sane tribute voluntarily trains at the same session as the Career pack. I'm going to be the exception. There was a risk that another tribute may defy the norm and appear for this session, but anybody who might have planned to attend has clearly changed their mind. So far so good.

I've deliberately chosen Room Four because of the layout of the dividing screens between the different disciplines taught in this room. There are several areas where it's difficult to see what is going on behind the screens from the security guards' observation platforms. There's a risk that the security cameras are operating, but I'm fairly certain the gamemakers' desire to keep each tribute's skills a secret means the cameras are switched off. Additional security guards are on duty, but they can't be everywhere at once and they tend to remain stationed on the high level observation platforms inside each room.

"Hey, Cato!" says Clove in a loud voice. "It's the slut who flashed her assets at you when we were leaving the railway station. Here's your chance to show her what you think of her."

Marvel and Glimmer from District One think Clove is highly amusing. None of them prevent me from placing my hand on the device to register my attendance at this session. If anything, they seem delighted that I'm here. They're obviously planning some entertainment at my expense.

Clove doesn't waste any time starting the verbal abuse. She's obviously had previous experience at this sort of game. Marvel and Glimmer refrain from insulting me as a person, and instead make fun of my lack of skill and technique at judo. Being a complete beginner means I'm a soft target for their withering commentary. Cato laughs at the ease by which the trainer counters my feeble attempts, but he refrains from making any comment.

After a few minutes, the trainer takes me aside and suggests that I withdraw from this session. The almost non-stop barracking from one or other of the Careers is making the trainer's job impossible and his pleas for quiet are ignored. By rights it should be the Careers who are ejected from this session, but they have been careful to keep within the permitted code of behaviour. Not that I mind. It's exactly what I was hoping would happen. Perhaps I should thank Clove for the speed at which we've reached this point.

I leave the others and go behind a dividing screen at the other end of the room. Nobody is expecting me to find another session before lunch. Indeed, there is no requirement to attend any training sessions at all. But even the well trained Careers don't pass up the opportunity for more training.

I find a secluded spot among a number of exercise mats. This end of the room isn't currently used for a training session and it's out of sight of the guard's observation platform. I just hope Cato can find a plausible reason to withdraw from the judo session and join me.

"Where are you, Katniss?" comes Cato's voice a few minutes later. Far too loud for my liking.

"Over here," I reply. "Ssshh!"

Cato reaches me and we embrace. Neither of us are in a particularly amorous mood at the moment, so this meeting may be no more than proving to ourselves that we can confound the gamemakers and meet in secret.

"Good plan," smiles Cato. "Are you sure we can't be heard or seen?"

"I can't guarantee it, but nobody has come running to separate us so far. How did you manage to get away from the judo session?"

"As far as the trainer is concerned, I've jarred my shoulder, so have had to withdraw from the session. Clove and the others think I've come to give you what you deserve for your stunt at railway station."

"And what is it that I deserve for getting the better of you at the station?" I tease.

"Where I come from, a girl who makes an offer like you made at the station is expected to deliver," says Cato.

"An exactly what offer am I supposed to have made? I only recall asking if you liked what you saw."

"Don't play the innocent. You knew what you were doing, and why. Everyone on television knew what you were doing, although perhaps not why. Nobody will blame me if I claim what you publicly offered."

"Really? What about a girl's right to change her mind? Are you saying that you can take what you believe is your reward without my consent?"

"I could. But I won't. I could because we enter the Hunger Games arena in three days time and there are no rules inside the arena. Well, apart from the unwritten rule that eating each other isn't tolerated. As long as you are fit and healthy enough to stand on your podium at the start of the Games, then nobody is likely to worry too much about what happens to you in the seclusion of the Training Centre. After all, what punishment can the gamemakers inflict? Any sentence which disqualifies me from the Games is hardly a serious option."

Unfortunately Cato is more or less correct. The concepts of law and justice are suspended for the tributes now we are inside the Training Centre. It's one of the reasons the gamemakers and mentors try to keep us under close supervision during training. However, Cato has more to lose than he admits. He has trained hard to be Hunger Games tribute, and he has a real chance of winning these Games. His goal is the wealth and accolades that go with being a Hunger Games victor. Disqualification is more than an empty threat against him, and I think he knows that only too well.

"Like your inability to tell the truth, your fake nobility doesn't ring true, Cato," I laugh. "You'd ravish me and any other girl in a moment if you thought you could get away with it. What I don't understand is why am I being treated with such consideration?"

"Again you slander me, Katniss!" says Cato in mock outrage. "Do you wish me to seduce you with sweet words, or would you actually prefer for me to simply jump on your delectable body and take my pleasure?"

"Hmmm ... that's a difficult question to answer. Were we courting lovers with all the time in the world, then I'd undoubtedly want you to make me feel special. But we don't have all the time in the world. In three days we must become enemies despite what we may wish otherwise. So any courtship must be brief and to the point."

"You're evading my question."

"Yes. And you've got your hand inside by shirt."

"Well, there's more than one of us guilty of that crime."


	10. No resistance

10\. No resistance.

Our conversation falters as our hands do the talking. I wouldn't have believed the rush of sensations I'm feeling could be possible if I wasn't experiencing what is happening between Cato and I. In less than a few minutes Cato has moved me from a normal everyday emotional state to one of almost wild abandon. I seem to be having the same effect on Cato, and it's possible we are each feeding off the other's desire. Certainly my heightened senses are making me bolder in my actions upon Cato's body.

So far neither of us has made a move to undress the other. It's as though by some unspoken agreement we decide that the risk of discovery is too high to chance undressing completely. For the same reason, we are being careful not to make too much noise.

On impulse I lean forward to kiss Cato. It isn't something I would do if I was thinking clearly. My previous attempts to kiss Cato have received a cool response and have been less than rewarding. Cato explained why he doesn't like kissing, and part of me agrees with his logic. But I'm impulsive by nature, and for better or worse I try yet again for a lovers kiss. Success! If I was in any fit emotional state to keep score, I would rank this kiss, and the series of kisses which follow, among the best of the best. Cato's response is both genuine and passionate in the extreme.

His lingering kiss masks his urgent move to push me onto my back. Far from resisting, I move my arms so that I pull him down on top of me. My emotions are reaching fever pitch as he takes the initiative. A series of kisses on my lips and my neck have me gasping for more. I feel his hands inside my top as they run across my upper body.

I'm far from being idle in this union. My hands gradually move downwards from Cato's chest, and work towards the object of my desire. This time I'm determined not allow him to become so aroused that he reaches his peak too soon. I wish I had more skill at managing this stage of our coupling, but I guess it's the sort of thing you can only learn from experience.

Cato's hands are now busy working on my track-pants. The elasticated waist offers no resistance to his downward pull. My own hands are already preparing Cato for the act that both of us wantonly desire. Lying there with my top raised high and my pants around my knees isn't the most comfortable of positions. But at the moment I don't care. I move myself slightly so as to accommodate what Cato has in mind.

"Wait until I tell you," I say to Cato.

At first he doesn't understand what I mean. The involuntary movements of his lower body suggests he's struggling to keep control of his urges. I take the initiative and position the pair of us for the moment we have been working towards.

"Wait. Wait." I repeat quietly as Cato begins to move back and forth. I think he now understands what I mean, but only time will tell. I'm not helping him by the motions of my own body, which are responding automatically to his actions. All of a sudden I realise I can no longer keep control of my own body. The rapidly mounting feelings inside me are like none that I've ever experienced before, nor thought possible.

"Now!" I moan, as my own body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Cato must have been near to breaking point himself, and only through the strength of his will did he wait as long as I demanded. The combined effect on both of us leaves us juddering helplessly in each others embrace. If anybody walked in on us now it is unlikely we would have noticed.

"Wow!" whispers Cato into my ear once we regain a degree of self control. I try to clamp my legs around Cato to prevent him from moving away too soon, but my track-pants are around my knees and block my move. He moves away slowly despite my efforts to stop him. I'm ready to repeat our glorious act, but I know Cato will need a while longer. Indeed, it's possible Cato may not regain his strength before our time in this hideaway runs out.

We both enjoy a few moments more of intimacy before moving apart. I could keep this up all day, but I know the risk of discovery increases the longer we stay hidden. As if my treacherous thoughts are the cue, we hear someone approaching our hideout.

"Is anybody back here?" comes a woman's voice. She can't see us at the moment, but it sounds as though she's heading in our direction. There's no escape for us.

"Yes," I reply, considering it better to admit to our presence before we are discovered. She must suspect something otherwise she wouldn't have called out. We frantically straighten our clothing, but I doubt anybody would be fooled.

"What's going on here?" asks the woman when she comes into view. Her uniform labels her as one of the trainers.

"Katniss was forced to withdraw from the judo session because of the heckling," says Cato. "I felt sorry for her, so I came to help her practise in private."

"Yeah. Right," says the woman. "You can try that story on the gamemakers if you like. Personally, I'd admit what you were doing and face the consequences."

"What are you accusing us of doing?" I ask.

"I'm accusing you of nothing. Whatever you were doing is no concern of mine. But the gamemakers won't be happy that you two have been alone together. You may have been out of sight of the guards, but the security camera up there will have recorded everything."

She points to the camera I saw earlier. The one I believed was switched off during the training sessions. Clearly I was wrong.

"We were told the cameras were switched off during training," says Cato, echoing my own thoughts. "That's why all the extra guards are stationed everywhere."

"Ha! A common misconception," chortles the woman. "The cameras aren't monitored during the training sessions, but they still record everything in case there's an incident."

"Are you going to report us to the gamemakers?" I ask. "We weren't doing anything wrong."

"It's not for me to judge your actions," she replies. "But if my failure to report this is discovered, then I'm in as much trouble as you."

"What? They'd send you into the Hunger Games arena to battle for your life," scoffs Cato.

"No. But there are other punishments President Snow's regime inflicts on those who disobey his rules. At least you stand a chance of achieving wealth and glory. An Avox has no such chance."

"Do you mean they'd cut out your tongue and make you work as a slave?" I say, incredulously. "Just for not reporting our meeting."

The woman doesn't reply but I sense she firmly believes in the truth of her words. I look at Cato, but he seems equally at a loss about what to do. By now the current training session has ended and everyone is going for a short lunch break.

"Go get something to eat," says the woman, clearly undecided about what to do. "And stay away from each other."

We heed her advice during lunch. Cato joins the other Careers, while I join a table with three tributes I haven't spoken to before. None of us feel like talking much, and our conversation is awkward and stilted. Not so the conversation from the table where the Careers are sat. If I had to guess, I'd say Cato is making up a story about how a super-stud like himself gave the slut from District Twelve what she truly deserved. His story might fool his allies, but I suspect he's as worried as I am about the consequences should the woman trainer report us to the gamemakers.

The afternoon training sessions begin. I silently sigh with relief when I realise there's no squad of guards wanting to haul Cato and I away for interrogation. I sign up for a session on plant identification and try to get the matter out of my mind. By the time the last training session for today finishes, I'm beginning to think the woman hasn't reported us after all.

"Miss Everdeen," says a guard when I'm about to return to the District Twelve suite at the end of training. "Please come with me."

"My mentor will be expecting me," I say, knowing only too well what this is going to be about.

"He's already been informed that you've been delayed," replies the guard.

As much as I want to run away, I know it isn't a realistic option. I meekly follow the guard to a nearby room and wait to find out my fate. There's no sign of Cato and it looks like I must face the music alone. A man with a lot of gold braid on his uniform enters the room. The guard who accompanied me suddenly looks nervous and promptly leaves, although I suspect he doesn't go any further than the corridor outside this room.

"Katniss Everdeen," says the man as though I need reminding of my name. "Maximus Maximilian, Head of Security. What am I to do with you?"

"What am I accused of doing?" I ask, repeating the question I asked the woman trainer earlier.

"Don't try to be smart with me, girl," snaps Maximus Maximilian. "I've seen the camera footage. And that from last night as well. Your co-conspirator, Cato, has admitted everything. You'd be wise to mind your manners."

"So what do you intend to do?" I ask. "I'm already sentenced to almost certain death."

"You are fortunate this matter was referred to me and not to one of the gamemakers. Tomorrow afternoon you will be demonstrating your skills to the gamemakers and they will award you a score. A low score will discourage sponsors and starve you of essential support inside the arena. If the gamemakers were to become aware of your indiscretion, they would be tempted to award a low score regardless of your skills. But so far they are ignorant of this matter."

"Am I supposed to say 'thank you' at this point?" I ask.

"Careful, girl. As I said, I'm not certain what I should do about this. Do you have any suggestions?"

My blood runs cold when I realise what he is hinting at. He want a bribe. I can guess only too well what sort of bribe he is angling for. Me. Unfortunately the sort of arrangement he is wanting isn't that uncommon in the districts. The peacekeepers regularly expect personal favours of the most intimate and degrading nature.

"You want a comfort payment," I say, more as a statement than a question.

"Is that what they call it in District Twelve? Let's say I could be interested."

"Or perhaps we can make a different sort of arrangement," I say. "How about you let Cato and I continue our affair in the comfort and seclusion of a room free of surveillance cameras or guards."

"What?! You're joking. What on Earth makes you think I'd agree to that, you stupid fool?"

I laugh at his arrogance and promptly tell him of my demands and why he's going to agree to them. Maximus Maximilian is not a happy man by the time we finish our heated debate. But at least he agrees. He even has the good grace to acknowledge defeat, although I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him ... which is not at all.

"The security camera in Medical Room Two will be out of order between eight o'clock and midnight tonight," says Maximus Maximilian. "You will need to find a way of getting in and out without drawing the suspicion of the guards on duty. If they spot you, then you're on your own. That's the best I'm going to offer."

I can't remember the location of the medical rooms but I know I have a map of the Training Centre complex back in my room. It's one of those things we're supposed to carry around with us, but nobody does.

"What about tomorrow night?" I ask.

"You'll have other things on your mind tomorrow night," says Maximus Maximilian. "I think I've done enough to satisfy your demands."

After the lewd suggestions he made when I first arrived, I don't think he's done anything like enough to appease me. But I decide against pushing my luck any further.

"May I leave now?" I ask as I walk towards the door. Maximus Maximilian doesn't answer, but nor does he stop me from leaving. The guard outside the door looks surprised as I walk out, but he allows me to pass. A few minutes later and I'm back in the District Twelve suite facing an angry looking Haymitch.


	11. A discovered secret

11\. A discovered secret.

"Get changed and then join us in the lounge," growls Haymitch, destroying my good mood.

"What's the matter?" I ask, unhappy at Haymitch's bullying tone.

"Just do as you're told," replies Haymitch walking towards the lounge.

"Don't order me around. If you have something to say to me, then say it," I reply, following Haymitch into the lounge.

I enter the lounge where Effie and Cinna are sat waiting. Peeta is nowhere to be seen so he's either in his room or he's gone out.

"Calm down Haymitch," says Effie. "Let me deal with this."

"So what have I done wrong this time?" I snap at the three of them.

"Katniss, dear. We're concerned about what you and Peeta have done."

"What is it that we're supposed to have done?" I ask, genuinely baffled by her comment.

"You know perfectly well," mutters Haymitch. "Peeta denies it, of course. I suppose you are going to as well."

"If I had the faintest inkling of what it is you're talking about, I could perhaps answer your question," I fume.

"Sex," says Effie. "You and Peeta have been having sex."

"Really?! Gee. I must have slept right through that when it happened."

"Don't lie, Katniss," says Effie. "I met Flavius this morning and he mentioned that he and your prep team had noticed that you had been sexually active since the reaping. Which means something happened on board the train."

I inwardly groan. I suppose it is inevitable my activities would become known to Effie and Haymitch at some point. I'm just glad it wasn't Cinna who betrayed me. He's the one person I really trust, and I'm glad my faith in him isn't misplaced.

"Okay. I admit it. I've had sex since the reaping. There's no rule against it is there?"

"No. There's no rule against it," says Effie. "But it complicates matters if you and Peeta are romantically involved. After all, there can only be one Hunger Games victor. It places all of us in your support team in an impossible situation if you and Peeta become too close."

"I know that," I reply. "Look. Peeta and I aren't romantically involved. I can't speak for how Peeta feels about me. We're just friends ... I think."

"So, do you promise you'll not engage in any sexual activity with Peeta for the rest of the Games," says Effie.

"Yes, okay. I promise," I say, unable to believe the ease by which this has been resolved. It's hardly my fault if Haymitch and Effie have jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Good," says Haymitch. "Now what was this business just now with the head of security?"

"I and another tribute discovered a flaw in the security system. Maximus Maximilian wished to thank me in person."

"That doesn't sound like MaxMax," says Haymitch. "He didn't try to proposition you, did he?"

"He hinted that he'd like a 'comfort payment' from me, but I pointed out that it was a bad idea."

"Maximus Maximilian has been demanding comfort payments from the weaker female tributes for years. Very few girls manage to escape from his clutches. He's a fool to have under-estimated you. The gamemakers only tolerate him because he's good at his job. So how did you manage to escape?"

"It wasn't that difficult. I simply pointed out that the gamemakers might not be too impressed if they heard about the flaw in his security system. They might feel the need to appoint a new head of security."

"Well, that's his biggest fear, but I'm surprised he let you get away with it. The old lecher is losing his touch if you outsmarted him that easily. You had better be careful, Katniss. MaxMax doesn't lose gracefully. He'll be watching you extra closely from now on."

"I know. But I thought having me watched closely was what you wanted in any case," I reply.

"Up to a point, yes. You're still one of my charges. There's not much I can do to protect you against the gamemakers, but I'll not stand idly by and let you be bullied or intimidated by the likes of MaxMax. He and I have crossed swords in previous years. Now, go and get changed. We'll have our evening meal at seven o'clock tonight so we can spend more time discussing your tactics for tomorrow."

My heart sinks at the prospect of not being able to get away to see Cato. When I think about it, though, I don't think it was a realistic proposition in any case. My victory over MaxMax was too easy to be true. Besides, I've no means of getting a message to Cato tonight, and even if I could, I've no faith in Maximus Maximilian. He said Medical Room Two wouldn't be monitored, but it's almost certainly a trap. Either that or the guards monitoring the corridors outside will be warned to be extra vigilant. MaxMax would like nothing more than to have Cato and I caught in the act by his guards. He may even want to make the arrest himself, just for the perverted pleasure of having us well and truly under his power.

I shower and get dressed for our meal. I'm ready with about twenty minutes to spare. Rather than sit around in my room, I go back to the lounge to wait for the others. Peeta must have had the same idea, because he's sat by the window watching the activity down in the city below us.

"Hi," I say as I approach where Peeta is sitting.

"Hi," he replies.

"Sorry if my behaviour on the train got you into trouble," I say, trying to head off any awkward questions about his interrogation by Haymitch earlier.

"That's okay," he says. "Actually, I was quite flattered that Haymitch thought you and I hit it off so well. I just don't understand what made Haymitch accuse us doing something like that?"

"Well, that's what too much booze can do to your sense of perception," I say. "Effie probably said something to Haymitch. She had a quiet girl-to-girl talk with me on board the train. She felt my standard of dress was immodest. She must have taken something I said too literally."

"Well, there's no harm done. You and I are banned from making out together ... not that we ever did ... , but apparently we're free to do it with anybody else."

"What do you mean?" I ask, suddenly very interested in this conversation.

"When Haymitch accused me of seducing you ... or, more precisely, the other way round ... I blew my top. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was along the lines that he doesn't care if I bed every other tribute here ... just not you. Apparently he can't cope with being mentor to two tributes who are more than casual friends."

"Well there you go!" I laugh. "He's given you the green light to go on the prowl. Is there anyone you have mind? I'd steer clear of Clove from District Two if I were you. She's bad news all round. What about the girl from Eight, or the tall one from Nine? Or the red-haired girl from Five?"

"Hmmm. The girl from Five isn't bad looking. I trained with her a couple of times today. But it's almost impossible to talk with a tribute from another district, let alone do anything like that."

"It would be fun trying, though."

"So who do you fancy?" asks Peeta.

"For me it has to be Cato from District Two," I say.

"A Career? You must have a death wish. He's a born killer," laughs Peeta. He laughs so hard that he sloshes his drink onto his trousers.

"I don't know. I think there's a hidden side to him. Besides, a girl likes to think she can tame the beast in a boy."

"You're playing with fire, Katniss," says Peeta.

"Well that would fit with the image Cinna gave us at the parade."

"What are you two talking about?" asks Haymitch as he joins us in the lounge.

"Since you won't allow Peeta and I to make out together, we were considering the alternatives," I reply.

"Try focusing on the matter at hand" grumbles Haymitch to the pair of us. "Tomorrow is the last day of training. Don't waste it by trying to flirt with any of the other tributes. The score the gamemakers give you tomorrow will influence the number of sponsors you attract. Thanks to your performance at the railway station, Katniss, you have attracted some sponsorship interest already. But it's all small fry stuff so far. The serious sponsors won't show their hand until after the gamemakers announce each tribute's score tomorrow evening. Don't blow your chances by playing silly games."

"Yeah, well I'm not likely to get any sponsors," says Peeta. "I'll just go and change my trousers. Back in a minute."

"Is a twenty thousand sponsorship deal worth going after?" I ask Haymitch once Peeta is out of earshot. Sponsorship is clearly a sensitive subject with Peeta.

"Twenty thousand? Are you joking? Most mentors will have done well if they can negotiate a couple of thousand in sponsorship for their tribute. At least half the tributes won't attract any sponsorship at all. Nobody in the Capitol wants to be seen backing an almost certain loser. The kind of money you're talking about will come with strings attached."

"Yes, I know," I reply. "This one has strings attached. But I might be able to work something out if you're prepared to give me the freedom to act as I think best."

"I don't know about that," says Haymitch. "You're young and inexperienced. What's more, you're headstrong and impulsive. That's an explosive mix. Through your actions you could lose those sponsors you have already, or fail to gain others. Then there's the gamemakers to consider. They'll intervene in anything they don't like. You could be putting yourself in great danger."

"I'll be entering the Hunger Games arena in a few days. How much more danger can I get into?"

"Hmmm. I suppose it's your life. I don't like it though. Who's the sponsor with more money than sense?"

"A guy by the name of Marcus Antonius," I reply.

"Him! The so-called Hunger Games expert who they haul in front of the television cameras every year. He's a pompous old goat who remembers everything but learns nothing. Incidentally, Marcus Antonius isn't his real name."

"But is he good for the money?" I ask.

"As far as I know. One way or another, he's made a fortune out of the Hunger Games. How do you know him?"

"I don't. He made a sponsorship offer on television last night."

"Okay. I'll go and talk with him if you think it's worthwhile."

"It's no good talking with him just yet. I must deliver my part of the deal first. I'll let you know when I do, and then you can go and extract the money from him."

"I want to know the details of this deal before I agree to anything. Are you going to tell me, or must I find a recording of the show he was on."

"I'll tell you later," I reply, stalling for time. Fortunately Peeta is returning and his arrival provides me with a good excuse to halt this conversation.

We settle down to a pleasant meal. Peeta seems out of sorts about the sponsorship situation, but not enough to spoil our meal. When we finish eating, Haymitch promptly launches into a lecture about our recommended tactics for tomorrow. To be honest, it's all pretty obvious. A morning of training to hone our skills and then the individual performances in front of the gamemakers in the afternoon. The gamemakers will be watching us train tomorrow morning although it's the afternoon performance which will count the most towards our score. A score of seven or better would likely attract a sponsor, although nothing can be guaranteed.

Effie and Haymitch spend a while talking to Peeta about attracting sponsors. Personally, I think Peeta is strong enough to earn a good score from the gamemakers. However, he's not so certain, and the conversation starts to go round in circles. I make an excuse to leave them to their discussion. My departure also means I've avoided talking to Haymitch about the terms of the offer from Marcus Antonious. Not that I can prevent Haymitch from finding out. It can't be that hard to obtain a recording of last night's show. I just need time to think about what to tell him that won't wreck my chances.

I go to my room. The servants who move silently about our suite have been into my room to turn down the sheets and prepare my bed for sleep. It's about ten o'clock by now, and training starts early tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I'm not the least bit sleepy. Suddenly I see one of the red-uniformed servants coming out of my bathroom. I let out an involuntary cry of surprise.

"Sorry," I say, as soon as I realise the servant has simply been cleaning and preparing my bathroom.

"That's all right," comes the reply. That's a bigger surprise. I was told that every servant here was a mute Avox. A criminal who has had their tongue cut out as punishment for their sins.

"You spoke," I say, making a statement of the obvious.

"Yes," replies the man. "I do that a lot."

I move towards the man who clearly isn't an Avox. His voice sounds familiar despite the high collar of his uniform muffling his words. The possibility that I'm in danger doesn't enter into my head. I recognise him as soon as he turns to face me.

"Cato!" I cry, leaping into his arms.


	12. Uninterrupted passion

12\. Uninterrupted passion.

There are numerous questions I should be asking Cato as soon as I discover him in my room. Not least of which is finding out how he managed to get in here. But I'm too delighted to see him that I push those questions to the back of my mind. I should be suspicious of Maximus Maximilian's abysmal standard of security; but I'm not. Answers to those sorts of questions can wait. I've practically undressed Cato by the time we make it to my bed. We're in a perfect setting for what I desire the most.

We enjoy over half an hour of uninterrupted passion. There's no part of each other's body that we don't explore and the whole episode drives me to dizzying emotional heights. We are both more than ready when our bodies finally join as one.

Neither of us is in a rush to end our coupling, but even the most determined lovers cannot sustain the fever pitch of our union forever. Eventually we both come back to reality. We lie side by side on my bed with our clothes scattered on the floor around us. Neither of us make any move to get dressed. I finally ask the questions I should have asked at the outset.

"That was fantastic, but how did you manage to get in here?" I ask.

"I had help," confesses Cato. "I was hauled into the head of security's office during our last training session this afternoon. He gave me the third degree about our relationship and threatened to report me to the gamemakers if I didn't behave. He had recordings of our meeting today. When he called me back an hour later I thought something nasty was going to happen, but he suddenly proved to be very helpful. He provided me with a red uniform and arranged for me to have access through the service doors between my suite and yours. The rest was easy."

"What! Didn't you suspect a trap? You've been set up! We've been set up!" I say in alarm.

"Relax," says Cato casually. "Credit me with some intelligence. I found the hidden camera and microphone in the uniform. I disabled them. We're perfectly safe from observation."

I don't believe Maximus Maximilian would rely on such simple and obvious ploy. I have a horrible feeling that everything that has happened in this room since Cato's arrival has been recorded in the most intimate detail. But does it matter? To be honest, I'm passed caring. What can Maximus Maximilian gain apart from another smutty video of Cato and I making out. He already has a recording of our meeting this morning. From what Haymitch said earlier to Peeta, our actions aren't against the rules. Of course, the gamemakers won't approve if they ever find out. But Maximus Maximilian isn't likely to tell them. He'd face some really awkward questions about the quality of his security, and probably have his videos confiscated for good measure.

"Are you going to stay the night?" I ask hopefully.

"Better not," replies Cato. "I'll wait until everyone is asleep and then head back to my room."

"What are we going to do about the video MaxMax has of us?" I ask.

"MaxMax?"asks Cato, obviously never having heard the nickname before.

"Maximus Maximilian. The head of security. Haymitch calls him MaxMax for short. Apparently he's an old lecher with a reputation for seedy behaviour."

"That figures," says Cato. "We have a couple of days before we enter the arena. We're bound to think of something before then."

I don't share Cato's confidence, but there's not much either of us can do about it at the moment. Besides, there's every likelihood that MaxMax is recording this conversation. Since Cato isn't planning on leaving just yet, we've time for some more fun.

It's well past midnight when Cato decides it's time to leave. He would have left an hour or so earlier had we not found our second wind. There's no need for him to sneak out of our suite. I open the main door to the elevators to let him out. A farewell kiss and then he's gone. I return to my room, take a quick shower, and then get some much needed sleep.

It's a six o'clock alarm call for breakfast so that we can be on time for the start of training at seven thirty. Peeta is looking annoyingly fresh this morning, while I'm definitely feeling the effects of last night. Not that I would have had it any other way. My time with Cato last night is worth every sleepy sensation I feel this morning.

I've nearly finished breakfast by the time Haymitch appears. I suddenly remember that he wanted to know about the sponsorship offer from Marcus Antonius. With Peeta in the room, Haymitch isn't likely to ask me now. But Haymitch has other means of finding out the details, and it's only a matter of time before he does. I'll have to think of something to tell him. Haymitch sits down to breakfast and dives into his food. At least he seems to be cutting back on the volume of alcohol that he's been consuming.

Peeta finishes first and heads for his room to change for this morning's sessions. I take the opportunity to head off any trouble over the sponsorship offer. I don't know whether Haymitch will believe that I'm being serious, but I'm at least going to try. I tell him what occurred during the television show, although I don't mention that I was the author of the question which sparked the discussion.

"I admire your optimism," says Haymitch. "But I can't see how you can possibly achieve your goal. Your only televised event between now and you entering the arena is Caesar Flickerman's show tomorrow night. Once you're inside the arena you'll not be able to get close enough to another tribute without risking death."

"Yes, I know. It's not going to be easy, but I want to give it a try."

"I think you're wasting your time, but I'll not stand in your way," replies Haymitch. "Twenty thousand is a lot, so I can understand why you want to try. Anyway, you'd better get ready for training or you'll miss the first session. Remember the gamemakers will be watching you train today."

I quickly change and head down to the training rooms. Peeta has gone on ahead and has signed into a training session which just happens to be the one the girl from Five is attending. It seems I'm not the only one being optimistic today. I decide to get the last of the compulsory subjects out of the way, so I sign up for the physical fitness session. Yet again it's basic level training which I manage with ease. It gives me time to think of a plan for Caesar Flickerman's show.

Of course, I might not be the only tribute who knows about the offer from Marcus Antonius. And his offer wasn't all that clear. Does he intend to sponsor only one tribute, even though two tributes must be involved? If so, it means I need to be the one who takes the initiative in public, otherwise Cato could end up being the beneficiary of the twenty thousand. How would I feel if that happened? I like Cato. I like him a lot. It could even be love that I'm feeling. But awarding that amount of sponsorship to a Career is practically guaranteeing their victory.

My thoughts turn to darker possibilities. What if Cato knows about the sponsorship offer? What if Maximus Maximilian told him about it yesterday, and between them they concocted a deal? A deal in which Cato gets a chance at the twenty thousand in sponsorship, and MaxMax gets his pornographic videos and vengeance on me. Those sorts of videos would only enhance Cato's reputation if he emerges as the victor from these Games, while my reputation would be tarnished should I win. It's an ugly thought after the wild pleasure I felt last night, but I can't ignore the possibility. Cato has always made it clear that our relationship is only fleeting. Once inside the arena, we become enemies. What am I to do? Do I abandon my quest, or risk everything on outsmarting those who might be actively working against me?

I notice the gamemakers watching me, so I concentrate on my exercises. I'm in good physical shape thanks to my frequent hunting trips in the woods back at home. The same can't be said for many of the other tributes. The overhead bars and the vaulting horse prove too much for some of them. While I don't see the gamemakers taking notes, I suspect they are already mentally scoring each tribute.

The pattern is the same for the following training sessions. I avoid all of the combat training sessions. Apart from my proficiency with a bow, I'm not strong in any form of combat, and no amount of training today is going to alter that. My intended tactics inside the arena will require stealth and self-sufficiency. That's where I look to hone my skills during training today.

I allow myself some time to think about the sponsorship offer from Marcus Antonius, and Cato's possible duplicity. The more I think about it, the more I realise that Caesar Flickerman's show isn't the right venue for my attempt to claim the money. It will be difficult to avoid making our kiss look stage-managed, which will give Marcus Antonius the opportunity to renege on the deal. Besides, Cato will be on stage first, which means he will have the advantage. If he knows about the offer then he'll seize that advantage at my expense. Of course I could give Marcus Antonius an out, by refusing to respond to any attempt by Cato to kiss me; but then both of us lose. No. This needs to be done in a less obvious situation.

But if it's not to be Caesar Flickerman's show, then when? There's no other scheduled live broadcast before we enter the arena. But there is no requirement for the kiss to be done on live television. A recording to be broadcast later would suffice, providing Marcus Antonius saw it. An idea starts to form in my mind. Like yesterday my idea is too nebulous to call it a plan. Unfortunately it relies on the somewhat unreliable Haymitch to deliver the essential components.

I manage to see Haymitch during the fifteen minute drink break between the fourth and fifth sessions. He confirms what I thought, and my idea suddenly starts to turn into a plan. It means breaking with tradition, but then it's a peculiar tradition which I've never fully understood. Put simply, this evening, after the gamemakers announce each tribute's score, a television crew will record an interview with those tributes willing to participate. The interview is broadcast several times after the Games begin, during quiet spells when nothing much is happening inside the arena. Traditionally only the Careers participate in the interview; usually because they score the highest, and it gives them a chance to boast about their prowess. They also stand a better chance than most tributes of still being alive when the interview is broadcast. The possibility of gaining more sponsors through the interview is clearly of no use if you're already dead by the time it is broadcast. Regardless of my score, I intend to be among the interviewees tonight. If Haymitch can suddenly prove his worth, then Marcus Antonius will be there as well as an observer.

The training sessions conclude and we've time for a late lunch before the individual sessions with the gamemakers begin. Being from District Twelve means Peeta and I go last in just under two hours time. We both pass on the opportunity for some extra training while we wait, and retire to our suite to relax. Haymitch is already there enjoying a drink. He's cut back on the booze, but not given it up entirely.

"How did you go on with the girl from Five?" I ask Peeta.

"Hah! You noticed, then. I didn't do too bad. We spoke for a while, but she's too clever to let her guard down. I guess I'll just have to admire her from afar. How about you? Any luck with Cato? You're still in one piece, so I suppose you drew a blank as well."

"I have my hopes in that direction," I say. "He came to my room last night and we made out big time."

"Ha ha ha!," laughs Peeta. "I just love your fanciful imagination. It's a shame we must enter the arena as enemies."

"I'm shocked that you don't believe me!" I reply. "Besides, you and I will be rivals not enemies. I don't hate you, so I could never think of you as my enemy."

I reflect on the truth of my statement. Do I think of Cato in the same way? Rival or enemy? What does he really think about me?


	13. Like a dancer

13\. Like a dancer.

At nine o'clock Haymitch escorts me down to the television studio in the Training Centre where the interviews are to be recorded. I'm still shocked that the gamemakers awarded me a score of eleven. It's the highest score among all of the tributes this year. Even Cato and Clove had to settle for a still very respectable ten. I don't know what I did during training to deserve the distinction, but it gives me a good excuse to join the Careers for this television interview.

As I anticipated, only the Careers and myself turn up for the session, even though it is open to all of the tributes. It's a surprisingly relaxed affair with the tributes sat on a pair of three-seater sofas. There's the ever present security cameras, of course, to discourage foul play. Clearly the television crew don't expect more than six tributes tonight. We settle down to wait for the interviews to begin, and I make a point of sitting next to Cato. Clove sits on the other side of Cato, while Marvel and Glimmer from District One have the other sofa to themselves. The mentors go through to an adjoining room to wait.

I had expected an interviewer to join us, but it seems as though the television crew are confined to the control room behind a dark glass wall. I presume the glass wall is a one-way mirror enabling the crew to see us, while preventing us from being distracted by movement inside the control room. Haymitch said Marcus Antonius would be inside the control room. I hope Haymitch is right, although given the size of his ego, I'm sure Marcus Antonius wouldn't pass on the opportunity to be witness to something to do with the Hunger Games which the rest of Panem won't be seeing for a week or so.

"Five minutes," comes a voice over the speaker mounted above the control room window.

The crew adjust the lighting and I'm grateful to Haymitch for reminding me to put on some make-up before we left our suite. Cato obviously didn't bother and his face looks pale and sickly in the intense light.

"Nervous?" I ask Cato.

"Not in the least," he replies. "How about you?"

"A bit," I reply. "I've never been interviewed before."

"There's nothing to it. Just behave naturally and pretend you're just talking to one person."

"Are you coming to my room again tonight?" I ask.

"If you want. And providing I can still get through the service doors. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

"Well, try really hard. Last night was great, and I want tonight to be something extra special," I say, taking hold of his hand. Cato doesn't resist, but he moves our joined hands to the side. He's making sure the television crew can't see what we are doing.

"Yeah, I thought we hit all the right notes," says Cato. "I ..."

"Two minutes," comes the voice over the speaker, interrupting whatever Cato was about to say.

Our conversation stills, although not my hand. I'm busy stroking Cato's thigh which is pressed up tight to our joined hands. He doesn't stop me, which suggests he is happy for me to continue. I've no plan on how to manoeuvre Cato into a kiss, but I'm off to a promising start. I just hope my nagging feeling of guilt doesn't stop me from carrying on. I'm not proud about trying to trick Cato, but my life may depend on my success. Besides, Cato has already tried to trick me on our first night here in the Training Centre. And the ease of his appearance in my room last night screams of a set-up, although Cato may have only been motivated by the prospect of sex.

I enjoy every minute I spend alone with Cato, but I've not forgotten our unlikely relationship was doomed from the beginning. I wish it was otherwise, but it isn't. The day after tomorrow we enter into the Hunger Games arena and must fight to the death. I must never forget that Cato is a Career, and no matter what he feels towards me, his training will override his emotions when it matters. But there's still time for us to enjoy each others company for a short while longer.

"Thirty seconds."

I've seen this sort of interview during previous Hunger Games, so I've some idea about the questions we'll be asked. I've mentally rehearsed some answers, although I'll more than likely forget them the moment I'm asked a question. The voice counts down the final ten seconds.

The interview begins with each of us stating our name, age and district. Then the hidden interviewer asks each of us questions in a seemingly random order. At first the questions are fairly straightforward and can be easily answered with bland non-committal responses. Certainly the Careers seem to be trotting out a set of well prepared phrases. But it occurs to me that if the purpose of this interview is to enable a tribute to attract sponsors, then boring answers aren't likely to achieve that goal. I make a conscious effort to try harder.

"You all look fairly fit," says the interviewer. "Which part of your body have you tried to exercise the most during training? Marvel?"

"My arms. I've been trying to improve the distance I can throw a spear."

"Fair enough. What about you, Glimmer?"

"Oh, I've not really focused on any one part. I've just tried to keep all my muscles in top shape."

"I see. Katniss?"

"My legs," I reply. "I've always wanted to be able to spread my legs wide. You know, like a dancer."

Clove picks up on the deliberate double meaning of my statement. She regards me as nothing more than a cheap whore who spreads her legs at any opportunity. Her hastily suppressed laugh adds to the effect I wanted to create. Cato also understands my hidden meaning and he struggles to prevent himself from laughing aloud.

"Hmmm. Really? And have you succeeded?" continues the interviewer, joining in the joke.

"Yes, I think so," I reply.

"And what about you, Cato? Have you been practising spreading your legs?"

"No, no," chortles Cato. "I don't know that I've been exercising any part of my body especially hard during training."

"Nonsense, Cato," interjects Clove. "You've been giving one part of your body a really good working out."

"Oh? And what's that?" asks Cato, beating the interviewer to the question by a second or so.

"Your dick," teases Clove. "Or so you claim. Unless, of course, your boasts were just so much hot air, and you've not touched little miss not-so-innocent sat next to you."

"Oh do tell, Clove," pleads the interviewer. "Is there something juicy going on between Cato and Katniss?"

Clove belatedly realises she has said too much in the heat of the moment, and that's she's let her fellow tribute from District Two down. District unity is regarded as important at this stage of the Games, although I've no idea why. Her rashness may well be her undoing inside the Hunger Games arena. She looks at Cato as if to say 'oops!'

"Katniss and I are both Hunger Games tributes and we will shortly be entering the arena to fight to the death," says Cato as though he's reciting from an instruction manual. Unfortunately the effect of his words are completely lost when he moves his hand to reveal that he and I are holding hands. The cameras can't have missed that shot. Clove certainly hasn't, but is reluctant to make matters worse for Cato by commenting. Glimmer isn't so reticent and draws everyone's attention to what they have probably already seen.

Cato is torn between breaking free of my hand as though it's poisoned, or brazening it out. As strong as he is, he's not the fastest thinker when faced with an unexpected situation. I take the initiative.

"I agree with what Cato has said," I say. "But that doesn't mean we haven't become friends here in the Capitol. We've spent some time together. Intimate and enjoyable time. But in the arena we will be rivals and avoid each other like the plague. I wish it were otherwise, but that's not to be our fate."

"But what you say is impossible," says the interviewer. "All the tributes are closely monitored. There's no way two tributes from different districts can be together as you claim."

"Believe what you wish," replies Cato. "Katniss has told the truth. Now, I think we have exhausted this topic."

Not quite. I lean over and kiss Cato. It's not the passionate kiss that Marcus Antonius is demanding, but a genuine show of thanks for Cato's support. Cato hugs me in return but doesn't return my kiss. I've blown my chance of getting the sponsorship money, but strangely I don't feel too disappointed.

After that little bombshell the rest of the interview seems tame by comparison. I still take care to balance my answers between attracting a sponsor and not revealing too many details of my skills to the Careers. It's easier for the Careers since they have trained together and they'll already know each others strengths and weaknesses.

Our interview concludes just before ten o'clock and our mentors escort us back to our suites. It's clear that they haven't seen or heard our interview. Haymitch keeps up a light conversation as we walk, which to me is a clear signal that he's saving something important until we're back in our suite.

"Well?" asks Haymitch. "Do I need to see Marcus Antonius and squeeze some money out of him?"

"It didn't work out as I intended. I succeeded up to a point, but I couldn't complete the task exactly as he specified. He might agree to honour his bet and sponsor me. He might decide it is Cato who deserves his money. Or he might simply claim we didn't provide strong enough evidence for either of us to warrant his money."

"You had better give me the details of what happened and I'll talk with Marcus Antonius first thing in the morning."

I give Haymitch the details. It means admitting to my liaison with Cato, but then, I had already told him that Cato and I were having sex. It's just that he didn't believe me before.

"Explain how Cato got into your room last night," says Haymitch.

I tell Haymitch what I know, and what I suspect about Maximus Maximilian's involvement. Haymitch doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

"And is Cato planning on making another nocturnal visit tonight?" asks Haymitch.

"I invited him," I say, not certain how Haymitch will take this news. "He's not certain if his access to the service doors is still active."

"If your suspicion about MaxMax's motives are correct, then I think it is likely Cato will be able to get in here again tonight."

"Are you going to stop him?" I ask.

"Only if you want me to," replies Haymitch. "It's a serious breach of security. One which I'll bring to MaxMax's attention in the morning when I recover his recordings of you."

"I thought you'd be furious that I've been having an affair with a tribute from another district. I don't understand your attitude."

"I'm an old hand at this mentoring game. In twenty four years, you're the first tribute I've mentored who's shown enough initiative and resourcefulness to defeat the gamemakers' rules. You might actually survive these Games, and I'm not going to jeopardise your chances. I just hope that you've considered all the risks. You might end up in a situation where one of you must kill the other in order to win."

"Thank you for understanding," I say, grateful for Haymitch's support.

"Hah! I didn't say I understood you. Personally I think you're crazy. But it's your life."

Haymitch settles down for some serious drinking. I leave him to it and head for my room. I clean off my make-up and take a quick shower while I wait. I just hope that Cato will be able to come here tonight. It's likely his mentor has been told about our relationship, and he might not be as cooperative as Haymitch. I dry myself and walk out of my bathroom into my bedroom. Suddenly I sense that I'm not alone.

I turn to where I sensed a hint of movement. Before I can see who it is a small piece of cloth is shoved into my mouth, and a strong pair of hands pins my arms to my side. I struggle frantically but I can't prevent myself from being pushed face down onto my bed. My assailant's weight holds me in place. I try to kick furiously, but I can't do much while I'm in this position. My only reward is a sharp slap across my naked rump.

"Stop kicking, Katniss, or you'll get a good spanking."

"Cato! You piece of filth! I'll get you for this!" I say. Or at least that's what I try to say through the gag. I think Cato gets my meaning though, even if all he hears is a string of muffled sounds.


	14. Rough and tumble

14\. Rough and tumble.

Cato waits until I stop struggling before he releases his grip on me. I turn over onto my back and lash out with my foot. My kick catches Cato on his leg. It'll leave a bruise, but my blow doesn't really connect. Cato just laughs and dodges clear before I can launch another kick. I pull the cloth out of my mouth and see that it's a pair of my underpants ... clean ones, fortunately. My initial anger has abated, but I'm still unhappy about Cato's opening moves.

"So are you going to call out and have Haymitch escort me from your room?" taunts Cato.

"No. But I want your promise that you're not going to do that again."

"I'll make no such promise," replies Cato. "Do you think we'll be following any rules in a couple of days time. Just look on this as some extra training. Are you in this game or out?"

So Cato wants to play rough and tumble. This isn't going to be the night of gentle loving that I had in mind, but I'm not going to show him any weakness this close to entering the arena. I'll play my part in this game, even though it might not be what I really want.

"Very well. I'm in. Are we following any rules at all?"

Cato explains the concept of using a safe word to protect each other from real harm. By saying 'Primrose' I'm assured that Cato will stop whatever he is doing to me at the time. Similarly I promise to respect Cato's safe word 'Clove'. Apart from that, then anything is permitted ... within reason.

"Were there any repercussions from our television interview surprise," I ask as Cato as he removes the red uniform he's used as a disguise to get into the District Twelve suite.

"Brutus was more annoyed with Clove than with me. Our confession has only enhanced my reputation, so Brutus isn't concerned."

Cato moves onto the bed beside me. Normally I would move closer to hug him, but I'm cautious about what he might have in mind. He's equally careful in case I exact my revenge for his initial assault. But we can't sit like this all night. I take the initiative and reach out to take hold of his arm just below his shoulder. His reaction draws me closer and before I know it we are lying on the bed with our arms locked around each other. It's a much gentler start to what I thought Cato was seeking, but I'm not complaining. I think our hesitant start is because neither of us has any experience at this sort of game.

After ten minutes, however, we've moved onto a much more physical game. We're being rough with each other, but not in a nasty way. To my great surprise I'm starting to enjoy it and my emotional state is driving me towards new extremes. Cato is aroused to the stage that I'm surprised he doesn't use his superior strength to simply take what he desires. Perhaps he's not such a novice at these games as I thought earlier.

Our game goes on for what seems like hours. Cato is much stronger, but I'm more agile. Standing up I have the advantage, but when Cato pulls me onto the bed the advantage is his. Not that either of us complain. Neither of us finds a need to use our safe word. Any advantage is only momentary. It's a though by some unspoken agreement, we've agreed to take turns at being in the dominant position. Given our individual personalities, it's probably the best solution. I know I would never tolerate being the submissive partner all the time, and I'm sure Cato is just the same.

We're both tired and bruised by the time we decide we've had enough. Cato again refuses my offer to stay the night. It's been a wild night which has left me with pleasant memories, different from those I've felt before. It's an experience I hadn't expected, but I'm glad that we did what we did. Even the thought that Maximus Maximilian may have a recording of Cato and me making out tonight doesn't spoil my mood. Our parting is very emotional although we both avoid saying goodbye. Realistically, though, tonight may be the last chance we have to be together like this.

My bed covers are in a mess and it takes me a few minutes to find everything and remake my bed. I'm too tired to take a shower, although I probably need one to ease my aching muscles and clean off the evidence of Cato's presence. I'm just glad there are no training sessions in the morning.

There's no alarm call this morning and it's nearly eight o'clock when I wake. Peeta, Effie and Haymitch have finished their meal by the time I've had a shower and appeared for breakfast.

"Sorry. I overslept," I say, although I don't really need to apologise.

"Eat your breakfast quickly," replies Effie. "Cinna will be here in half an hour to do the final adjustments to your dress for Caesar Flickerman's show. After that you'll need to go to the Remake Centre. Your prep team will get you cleaned up for tonight. You must look your best."

I inwardly groan. I don't mind the fitting session with Cinna, but another few hours of being scrubbed and polished in the Remake Centre will be torture.

"After lunch, Haymitch will go through your script for your interview," continues Effie, who has clearly mapped out my whole schedule for today to the minute. I think Haymitch already knows that I'll never be able to follow a script.

By the time I meet Haymitch after lunch, he has some news for me from Marcus Antonius. Despite my initial pessimism, it seems Marcus Antonius agreed under pressure that I had satisfied the terms of his offer during the television interview last night. It certainly helped that there were two television crew as witnesses. Unfortunately, it turns out that Marcus Antonius isn't as wealthy as he claims, and Haymitch had to settle for one thousand in sponsorship on my behalf. I don't think Haymitch would have achieved that had it not been for his promise not to reveal that Marcus Antonius has short-changed us. Marcus Antonius keeps his reputation, while I get a decent amount of sponsorship in return. Given I thought I had failed to achieve the conditions of the sponsorship, I'm not complaining at the result. I thank Haymitch for a job well done.

"On the other matter we discussed last night, I've not been so successful," says Haymitch. "MaxMax has denied that he has any videos of you taken in your room. He's insists that there are no cameras inside any tribute's bedroom. As for Cato having access to our suite, he seemed genuinely surprised. He checked the access logs in my presence and there's no evidence of Cato leaving his own suite at any time in the last two nights, other than for the television interview. An Avox's movements are only recorded by an identification number, but there's no evidence of an Avox leaving the District Two suite and then entering ours. Without knowing the exact time Cato entered our suite it's difficult to identify his entry from the numerous genuine Avox movements. Either MaxMax has covered his trail exceptionally well, or Cato had help from someone other than MaxMax to gain access to our suite."

"Someone like Cato's mentor, Brutus, you mean. What do you suggest we do?" I ask.

"Nothing," replies Haymitch. "Both MaxMax and Brutus would be foolish to try any more funny business this close to you entering the arena. The gamemakers always pay very close attention to what happens from now on. The last thing they want is an unpleasant surprise at the last minute. What is done is done. You must concentrate on winning the Games. Once you've done that we can sort out anything that still requires attention."

I still hold on to a hope that Cato and I can be together one more time, but as the day progresses I realise that it's a forlorn wish. We won't return from Caesar Flickerman's show until nearly midnight, and its an early departure in the morning for the arena. While I doubt I'll get much sleep, I'll need to get as much rest as I can.

Despite being closely watched by both the guards and the gamemakers, I manage a short conversation with Cato as we wait for Caesar Flickerman's show to begin. We risk a quick kiss when we think nobody is watching. It's probably not the wisest of actions in the circumstances but what harm can come from it?

A short while later we are lined up for our interview with Caesar Flickerman. The interviews are done in district order, so Peeta and I will go last. I listen carefully to each tribute's interview, particularly when it gets to Cato's turn. If he knows about the sponsorship offer from Marcus Antonius, then now will be the time when he makes his opening move. Of course, he won't know that Marcus Antonius was witness to the interview last night and that I've already claimed the much reduced prize.

"Now, Cato," says Caesar Flickerman. "Our cameras caught you kissing another tribute just now. Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve, in fact. Do you wish to comment?"

"It's hardly my fault if girls find me attractive," laughs Cato. "Katniss and I have been good friends over the last week."

"And would Katniss agree with your statement?"

"You'll have to ask her, but I believe she would," replies Cato.

"Indeed I shall," laughs Caesar Flickerman. "Are you aware of the sponsorship offer from our resident Hunger Games expert, Marcus Antonius? Twenty thousand, I believe. A rather rash offer, I might add, but I'm assured it is genuine."

"Yes. I've heard of his offer. My mentor told me about it."

"And if we brought you and Katniss on stage together, would you kiss Katniss passionately and claim his sponsorship money."

"I would gladly kiss Katniss," replies Cato. "But I'm not interested in the money. I will win these Games through my own skills, and not because of a large sponsorship deal."

"That's very noble of Cato," replies Caesar Flickerman. "However, your mentor would be failing in his duty if he didn't claim Marcus Antonius's offer on your behalf."

I inwardly smile at Brutus's disappointment should he try. Unfortunately the audience is practically demanding Cato and I kiss on stage. They don't care about the consequences. Caesar Flickerman calms the audience's frenzy and continues with the interviews. Of course the topic is the first question he asks me when it's my turn on stage. It's as well Haymitch wasn't expecting me to follow a script.

"Cato and I have been good friends, but tomorrow we must become enemies by order of the state. Cato told you he intends to win these Games. I too intend to do my best to win them. I don't think I can add any more to what Cato told you."

"But would you be willing to kiss Cato on stage here tonight?"

"So that Cato can benefit from twenty thousand in sponsorship. No way! I like Cato a lot, but I'll not kill myself and every other tribute here tonight by allowing that to happen."

"I'm sure Marcus Antonius would split the sponsorship money between you," says Caesar Flickerman.

"You don't know that," I reply. "I'm sorry, Caesar, but there'll be no public kiss between Cato and I tonight."

A muttering from the audience shows their disapproval of my statement. I realise that I'm in grave danger of losing what sponsorship support I have apart from the promise of Marcus Antonius's money. Will that be enough, or do I try to rescue my situation?

"Please reconsider," says Caesar Flickerman, obviously aware that the pressure from the audience is working in his favour. "Cato! Please come and join us."

Cato reluctantly comes back onto the stage. He looks disgusted at the theatrics he and I are being coerced into performing.

"Let's do this," I say to Cato. "I doubt we'll be allowed to leave this stage with our credibility intact unless we do."

"I don't like it," says Cato. "But I guess we're trapped. I'm sorry I've dragged you into this mess."

"I'm just as guilty," I reply, leaning forward so that we can kiss. Cato and I join in the passionate kiss the audience is demanding. The cheering from all around us is deafening. We finally break our kiss. Cato shows his contempt for the audience by returning to his seat off-stage without saying a word. My interview winds up almost as quickly. I pity Peeta having to do his interview with the audience still buzzing with excitement.

I don't get a chance to talk to Cato after the show. Haymitch promptly takes Peeta and I back to our suite. I'm too upset about the whole performance tonight for more than a quick apology to Peeta for making his interview so difficult. If anything, tonight's episode makes me more determined to survive these Games so that I can exact my revenge on these evil people.

I return to my room and prepare for bed. Part of me hopes Cato will come tonight, but I know that he won't. The next morning I'm woken early and I prepare for my departure for the arena. As I make my final preparations in my bathroom I silently thank Cato for a wonderful few days. I pick up the small box of contraceptive pills that Effie gave me on board the train. With my renewed determination to win the 74th Hunger Games, perhaps I should have been taking the pills as Effie advised.

 **[End of Part One]**


	15. Train ride to Hell

**Part Two: Prisoner**  


15\. Train ride to Hell

Of course, I should have know that I had no chance of emerging as the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. Not due of any lack of skill on my part, but because Cato and I were the target of the Gamemakers wrath. The public kiss Cato and I shared during the final interview before the Games must have sent President Snow into a fury. Two tributes publicly showing affection towards each other isn't in the Hunger Games script at all. It's something I should have realised before giving way to my impulses. No amount of sponsorship money could protect me from the retribution President Snow will have undoubtedly demanded. So I must pay the penalty. But at the moment I'm not sure what that is. In fact, I'm not sure about anything.

"Hah! At last! You're awake," comes a voice inside my fuzzy mind.

I let out a groan. It's as much as my body can muster at the moment. My head feels like it's full of cotton wool, and my throat is so dry that it hurts when I breathe. I try to recall how I ended up here ... wherever here might be. The voice sounds familiar, but the identity of its owner eludes me for the moment. I try sitting up, but quickly realise that I'm in no condition to do so. The room swims around before my eyes and the floor keeps rattling and shaking. I lie down again on the hard wooden surface. The aches in my back and joints suggests I've been lying here for some time.

"Drink this," says the voice again. I feel a metal cup pressed against my lips. I drink the contents without thinking. It tastes vile and belatedly I realise I could have been drugged. Despite its taste, the liquid eases the dryness in my throat. Enough for me to breath deeply without the pain I felt only a few moments earlier. I try again to sit up, but a hand on my shoulder forces me to stay lying down. After a few seconds the room stops swimming around and my eyes gradually focus on my surroundings. If only the floor would stop shaking.

"Don't try moving too soon. The drugs take a while to wear off. You're lucky to be alive. When I found you in here I thought you were already dead, and that the Gamemakers were playing a sick joke."

"Where are we?" I ask, feeling elated that I've managed to utter those three words coherently.

"No idea," replies the boy sat facing me. I recognise his face as soon as my brain starts to function properly. Cato!

"I thought you were dead," I say.

"It seems both of us have cheated death ... so far," replies Cato.

Cato is right. He should be dead. I should be dead. Both killed inside the Hunger Games arena. In my case, killed while fleeing the forest fire that the Gamemakers created. I don't know the circumstances of Cato's supposed death, other than his face was among the list of dead tributes broadcast inside the arena at the end of the first day. Given Cato's skills, I suspect the Gamemakers had a hand in his demise inside the arena. They certainly had a hand in my mine.

So why am I still alive? The injuries I sustained while racing through the burning forest have been treated. I feel fine, apart from the residual effects of whatever drugs they've pumped into me. My own recollection of how I arrived here is sketchy at best. I vaguely remember the heat and smoke of the burning forest as I tried to outrun the flames. The next thing I remember is lying flat on a narrow table with needles and tubes stuck into my body. Then oblivion for an unknown period of time until I woke in here just now.

"What is this place?" I ask. "Are we moving, or am I dreaming that the floor is shaking?"

"We're moving," replies Cato. "Have been since yesterday. If I had to guess, I'd say we're inside a railway freight car on our way to some remote corner of Panem."

"Is there anything to eat?" I ask, suddenly feeling very hungry.

"There are a few things in this bag," replies Cato, handing the bag to me. "Not much, I'm afraid. I've no idea how long we need to make it last. The water pitcher is over there, and there's a hole in the floor by the corner if you need to answer a call of nature."

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know. You were here when I was brought aboard yesterday morning. They had a bag tied over my head so I didn't see anything until I managed to free myself. By that time there was just you and me inside this locked wagon. Nobody said anything about what is going on."

"What happened to you in the arena?" I ask as I examine a stale piece of bread.

"Someone whacked me on the back of the head. I didn't see who it was. The next thing I remember is lying on a metal table inside a medical facility. They must have drugged me, because I passed out and woke inside a prison cell of some sort. A short while after that they made me face the wall while they blindfolded me and brought me here. Until I saw you, I haven't seen nor spoken to anybody since leaving the arena."

Cato is obviously as much in the dark as I am. There are many questions running through my mind without the prospect of an immediate answer. I manage to sit up without the dizziness I experienced on my last attempt. I take stock of my situation. Like Cato, I'm barefoot. My clothes from the arena have been replaced with a loose fitting orange shirt and matching trousers. They are made of a strong fabric and feel about three sizes too large for me. My initial thoughts are that I'm wearing prison clothing. Cato is wearing an identical outfit although his fits him better. On my right wrist is a tight fitting steel bracelet with something etched onto the outer face.

The steel doors to the freight car are firmly locked. Whoever has placed us on board this train clearly wants to ensure we arrive at the intended destination. There are no windows, although the ventilation grills at the top of the wide roller doors allow sufficient daylight to enter for us to see inside our prison. From the rhythm of the train running along the track it's clear we aren't travelling very fast. This could be the slow train to Hell as far as I know and our meagre supply of food and water will only last a few days. We share the car with a dozen wooden crates of different sizes. Each crate carries a large label showing a number above the words _Sunny Glen_.

"Sunny Glen", I muse. "Sounds like one of those government work camps. Do you think that's where they are sending us?"

The government refers to the work camps as "pioneer settlements", and gives them pretty names like Rainbow Falls. District Twelve has two camps in the wilderness to the north of the district, although neither is called _Sunny Glen_. I presume the other districts have similar camps. They are mobile communities whose denizens are tasked with preparing areas of the wilderness for new settlements. Rumour has it that the wilderness hides ruined towns and cities destroyed in the cataclysm and wars that gave birth to Panem. A hidden source of potential resources, just waiting for a new generation of scavengers and plunderers.

For the most part, the work camps are little more than open prisons, each housing scores of petty criminals. Despite the risks, it is easy to see why many prisoners choose the hard life of the camps when the alternative is to serve out your sentence in an overcrowded and disease-ridden gaol. However, neither option is a good recipe for a long life. I've heard stories that only one person in twenty survives for more than a year in the wilderness. Extreme weather, disease, dangerous wild animals and hazardous work all take a heavy toll on the population. Nevertheless, there are a few ordinary citizens who prefer the relative freedom of the wilderness to the restrictions encountered in every day life in the districts. I remember Gale Hawthorne once talked about volunteering to join one of the District Twelve camps, but his family responsibilities prevented him from doing do.

"A work camp!" replies Cato. "That figures. There can't be many places they are able to send two people who are supposed to be dead. Although I begin to wonder what our mysterious benefactor is trying to achieve. It seems pointless going to all the trouble of saving us from the arena, only to condemn us to almost certain death in a work camp."

"Perhaps we aren't intended to stay there for long," I say. "Perhaps our benefactor has further plans to complete our escape."

"Then why not tell us the plan?" replies Cato. "Instead of leaving us wondering about what is happening to us."

"Perhaps it's because we may be discovered. Let's face it; if we're caught now there's nothing about our benefactor that we can betray. Perhaps ..."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps!" fumes Cato. "There are too many unknowns. We don't even know the identity of our benefactor! Nor do we know why he is helping us. Besides, if we're caught, then it isn't going to take the peacekeepers long to round up those who may have helped us escape from the arena. I'd give the peacekeepers twenty four hours to extract the information they need to identify our benefactor and his motives. Our benefactor must know that his life depends on our not being caught. Not telling us his plan only endangers him all the more."

"Unless our benefactor isn't anyone we know. It must be someone with access to considerable resources to be able to whisk us away from the arena, treat our wounds, and get us onto this train. It would need to be someone well placed in the Gamemakers' hierarchy to pull off that kind of trick. I don't know of anybody who fits that description. Do you?"

"No. I thought at first it might be Marcus Antonius. But you are right ... he doesn't command that kind of influence. So I guess we must await our fate at the end of this line. I hate being a puppet in somebody's power games."

"Me too. Perhaps we should do something about it?"

"Like what? In case you haven't noticed, we're locked inside this car. We go wherever it goes. And I'm picking that it's going to Sunny Glen."

I'm not so pessimistic. The condition of this freight car suggests that it's not been serviced for many years. The metal walls are rusting and the wooden floor has seen better days. I move over to the hole in the floor. The end of one of the floor planks is rotten, and part of it has fallen away. The hole is too small to climb through, but it might be possible to make the gap wider. I grab the end of the rotten plank and pull hard. A few centimetres of the end breaks off in my hand.

Cato sees what I'm doing and comes over to give me a hand. We each take hold of the plank and pull with all our might. Although we manage to break more off the rotten plank, the adjoining planks are still firmly attached to the steel frame underneath. We're not going to be able to escape by that route. Having established that we can't open any of the crates without tools that we don't possess, we divert our attention to the walls and roof of the freight car.

The doors seem relatively new so we concentrate on a rusty patch on on wall. Cato pushes against the wall and manages to make a hole the size of his fist. But again we are thwarted. While we can create a hole, it's never going to be large enough for us to climb through. Our inspection of the roof is equally fruitless, and we end up entangled on the floor when I overreach while Cato is lifting me up.

Despite our frustration ... or perhaps, because of it ... Cato sneaks a quick kiss. This leads on to other things and, having resigned ourselves to our temporary captivity, we start to amuse ourselves in other ways. By the time darkness encroaches we are both in a state of arousal.


	16. Trivial crime

16\. Trivial crime

We settle down for the night. Fortunately the summer nights are warm enough for us to manage without any blankets or other source of heating. Besides, Cato is intent on providing me with all the warmth I might need. Before long we've removed each others clothes. After that it is a night of wild passion and the hedonistic slaking of our lust. For all we know it might be our last chance to do this. We spend the entire night locked in each others arms.

I wake as soon as the first signs of dawn break through the ventilation grill. The train is still moving slowly along, although the squeals and jerks we heard and felt last night are less frequent. Cato is still snoring beside me. I need to answer a call of nature and clean myself up. Cato wasn't too careful about where he spread his plentiful seed last night. Not that I was complaining at the time, but the sticky mess on my face and hair now needs removing.

"Good morning, beautiful," says Cato as he wakes. "I like the hairstyle."

"Hi," I reply. "You had a hand in the state of my hair. Well, perhaps not your hand, but you know what I mean. I could do with cleaning myself up, but it would be foolish to use the last of the drinking water."

"Let me help," offers Cato, and he begins to wipe my face and hair with his shirt. In the end he risks using a small part of our water supply to make me look more or less presentable.

I examine the contents of the bag containing our food. It's an odd assortment of items suggesting the contents we gathered in a hurry. At the bottom of the bag in an envelope I hadn't noticed before. I break the seal and read the letter inside.

 _My dearest Katie and Carlton,_

 _I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am to hear that you must start out married life as prisoners of the state. A year seems a harsh sentence for such a trivial crime, but your lawyer cannot find grounds for an appeal. Be brave and endure your punishment. Work towards the day you can begin your new life._

 _I believe you have made the right decision to serve out your sentence in a work camp. At least it means you can be together until you gain your freedom. I look forward to when me may be reunited._

 _Your loving uncle._

I look at Cato for an explanation. Who are Katie and Carlton? Who's this mysterious uncle?

"Well, it might explain why my bracelet has the inscription 'Carlton Deane' on it," says Cato in reply to my unspoken questions.

I look at the tiny inscription on my bracelet and I discover it says 'SG0388 Katie Deane'. The letter inside the bag must be intended for Cato and I, and provide us with a clue about what is going on. Cato arrives at the same conclusion.

"Can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of spending a year in a work camp," says Cato.

"Nor I," I rely. "But it's preferable to being dead inside the Hunger Games arena."

"True, but a year is a long time out here in the wilderness. From what I've heard, not many survive for that length of time."

"I know. But we've both had experience or been trained to survive in the wilds, so perhaps our chances of survival will be better."

I like Cato, but I'm not certain I'm ready to commit to being married to him. But then, our marriage is probably every bit as fake as our new identities. We don't have a chance for further discussion. The train suddenly halts with a jolt and we can soon hear the sound of several voices from outside. This is accompanied by the sound of freight car doors being opened, although ours remains firmly locked. I suspect this is only a temporary state of affairs, so I quickly finish dressing and return the letter to our food bag.

"Stand back from the doors," comes an order from outside our freight car. "Or suffer the consequences."

Not a friendly welcome to Sunny Glen, but then, what did I expect. Cato and I position ourselves by the crates while the door on one side of the train is unlocked. A burst of light floods the interior as the door is rolled back.

"Step forward to the door when I call your name," orders a blue uniformed man who has clambered up into the car. I presume from his uniform that he's one of the camp guards. On the ground behind him stand two other guards, and beyond them a group of six orange clad men and women.

"Prisoner SG0387 Carlton Deane," says the guard reading from his clipboard. Cato steps forward. The guard places a scanner over Cato's bracelet and writes something onto the sheet on his clipboard. "Get down off the train and wait over there. Prisoner SG0388 Katie Deane. Step forward."

I follow Cato's example and the guard goes through the same routine. On his signal I climb down from the freight car and join Cato who is standing with one of the other guards. I study our surroundings while we wait for the other prisoners to unload the crates from our freight car. The train has stopped in a clearing in the middle of a heavily wooded valley. About fifty metres away, in the middle of the clearing, stands a line of tents running parallel to the rail track. There are a couple of larger tents to one side which appear to be a kitchen and dining area. A river flows down the valley behind the line of tents.

There's not much activity inside the camp, apart from the dozen or so prisoners and guards busy unloading the four freight cars. The locomotive driver and his assistant are heading towards the kitchen tent, obviously looking for breakfast while the train is unloaded. The crates are stacked in a line a few metres clear of the train. Everything is done by hand. There's no sign of any equipment which might speed up the whole process.

After what seems like an eternity the unloading is finished. The prisoners and all but two of the guards head off towards the kitchen tent. The driver and his assistant return to the train and the train soon sets off in the opposite direction to which it arrived.

As soon as the train moves away, I realise the other side of the track is home to a line of different sized shacks positioned alarmingly close to the track. Some of the shacks appear to be store sheds, while others clearly provide sleeping accommodation. The large white shack nearest to us bears a painted sign saying "Sunny Glen". It's the only indication of where we are.

"You must report to the Chief Engineer," says one of the guards. "He'll be in the white building over there."

Apart from making sure we go to the right shack, the guards don't bother to follow us. They seem more interested in heading for the kitchen tent. Our knock on the door is answered by a woman dressed in an orange shirt and trousers like ours. Despite the fact that she must also be a prisoner, she looks at us as though we've just crawled out from under a stone.

"The train is an hour early," she says as though it is somehow our fault. "The Chief Engineer is making an inspection tour. I suppose you can wait in here until he returns."

We squeeze onto the small seat by the door and wait patiently. The woman resumes her work and deliberately ignores us. A man wearing a suit, who I presume is the Chief Engineer, arrives in the office about half an hour later.

"What are these two doing here, Maggie?" he says when he sees us.

"The supply train was early, sir," she replies. "These are the two new inmates we've been expecting."

"Very well. Summon Fowler and have him deal with them."

The Chief Engineer enters the inner office without speaking to us. Maggie leans out of the window and gives some orders to someone outside. A few minutes later an elderly man wearing a grey uniform arrives. He introduces himself as Fowler without indicating whether it is his forename or family name. He tells us to follow him.

We cram into the small hut which must be Fowler's office. The sign on his door simply says _Foreman_. At his request we each show him the metal bracelets on our wrists.

"Everything seems to be in order," he says. "Now, do you have any questions?"

We have many questions. Where do we live? What are we expected to do? How do we get food and other basic necessities? Fowler waits until we have run out of questions before answering.

"Maggie will allocate your billets as soon as we've sorted out your work allocations. Most prisoners share one of the tents. It's the cheapest option. You can rent a hut if you want, but it will be a lot more expensive than a communal tent. You get paid, but you must buy your own food and clothes, as well as pay the rent for your accommodation. You will be issued with one pair of boots every six months, but I recommend you buy your own as soon as you can afford it. If you are careful you should earn enough to get by, but don't expect luxuries.

"You are required to work six full days each week. Your exact hours of work will depend on the job you are assigned. We are always short of workers, so you will be expected to work hard. Those wearing orange clothes are prisoners. Those in grey, like me, are free citizens. The guards all wear blue uniforms. You must obey all orders from the guards and free citizens, or face punishment. You are permitted to leave the camp when you are off duty, but make sure you return in time for your next shift. Failure to do so will be regarded as an attempt to escape, which is a hanging offence.

"You can buy food and other items from the company store. Be careful; the store is expensive and Jed doesn't allow credit. If you are able, you can supplement your supplies by hunting in the woods."

Fowler asks Cato and I about our skills and education. He decides we lack the training or experience for specialist work and he assigns both of us as general workers. The whole process takes about half an hour. Fowler escorts us back to the white hut where Maggie is busy filing her nails. She looks annoyed that our arrival has interrupted her busy grooming schedule, but doesn't make an issue of it while Fowler is watching.

"You have a choice," says Maggie. "I can billet you in tents, but it means you'll be split up. Alternatively you can share a hut. Tents will be cheaper."

"We'll share a hut," says Cato without consulting me. Maggie waits a few seconds in case I object before nodding in acknowledgement. Then she hands a small amount of money to us.

"This money is an advance on your pay to tide you over until you get paid at the end of the week. You have six weeks in which to repay the advance. Any money still owing by then will be deducted from that week's pay. You can use hut four. I suggest you go and settle in and buy whatever food you need. Your first shift starts at two o'clock this afternoon. Report to the foreman's hut."

We soon find our hut, which is in a row of six identical huts. All the huts face the rail track which seems to double as Sunny Glen's main street. Our hut consists of a single room, but it is large enough for our needs. The living area consists of a couple of wooden chairs around a table. There's a small wood burning stove which doubles as a heater and something to cook on. After a bit of searching we discover long-drop toilets located in a communal block at the end of the row of huts. We are clearly expected to use the river for drinking water and for washing.

We check the sleeping facilities in the hut. We soon discover the bed is a drop-down double bed located between two cupboards. I guess this will be our home for the next year ... providing we can keep up with the rent.

"We had better go and buy some food," I say when it becomes clear that Cato has more intimate things in mind.

The brightly painted hut which serves as the general store is easy to find. It's the second largest building in the camp after the white hut. Fowler had already warned about the high prices in the store, so we are not surprised at what we find. Undoubtedly the prices are a factor of no competition and the distance the supplies must travel to get here.


	17. Harsh conditions

17\. Harsh conditions

"You must be the two new scroats who arrived on this morning's train," says the storekeeper. Like Fowler, he's dressed in a grey uniform. "I'm Jed. If you want something you don't see, I can order it in for you. The supply train arrives twice a week. I buy stuff as well. I'll give you a fair price if you have anything you want to sell."

We check the prices of the food items and soon realise we have only enough money for a few basic items. We are due to be paid in three days time, but our first pay will only be for a few days work. The cost of a pair of boots is beyond our means, so, for now, we'll have to rely on the badly worn pair we've each been allocated.

"What's the hunting like around here, Jed?" I ask, looking at a serviceable bow and quiver of arrows. Too expensive for now, but something I intend to buy when I can.

"Birds and small game in the woods all around. Trout and catfish in the river. Deer and boar to be found if you go deeper into the woods. But watch out for bears and mountain lions. I'll give you a good price for any surplus catch. There's always a demand for fresh meat."

"What about herbs and medicinal plants," I ask.

"Not much demand for them," says Jed. "I stock the usual remedies for headaches and gut-rot, but there's little call for anything else. People who get sick usually recover on their own, or they die."

I buy some wire to enable me to set snares. I fully intend to use my hunting skills to help put food on our table. If everything turns out as we hope, then we should be able to manage. We return to our hut and hide our purchases. There's no lock on the hut door and, for now, I don't trust our neighbours. We've a couple of hours before our shift starts so I go to set some snares in the nearby woods.

"I'll check the traps first thing tomorrow," I say to Cato when I return. "I'm not hopeful, though. The woods nearby seem to be hunted out already. I might have to set the traps further into the woods."

If I'm right, then it means I'll only be able to hunt on my day off. If we can supplement our income from hunting, then we won't go hungry. Cato and I report for work outside Fowler's hut just before two o'clock. There are six other prisoners waiting as well, four men and two women. They all eye us with emotions ranging from indifference to suspicion. One of the older men looks at me as though I'm his next meal.

"Better keep good care of your wifey, young un," laughs the older of the two women. "Ol' Crassus here has hankering to sample the delights of young female flesh."

"Well he'd better not try anything with my wife," says Cato before I can respond. "Or Ol' Crassus will be missing his dick."

"Ha ha ha," laughs the woman. "If I had a day off my sentence for every time I've heard someone say that, I'd be home and free long ago. I admire your intentions but I don't recommend trying. Crassus has friends among the guards who might not see the funny side of the matter. Besides, fighting with a fellow prisoner will earn you a flogging. Keep well away from him and neither of you'll come to any harm. And, whatever you do, don't borrow money from him or any of his cronies."

The tension between the prisoners is every bit as intense as that which I experienced during training for the Hunger Games. Each prisoner is wary of the others, although not overtly hostile ... apart from Crassus, that is. He's just plain mean, and doesn't waste an opportunity to show it.

"You gotta name?" asks the younger woman.

"Ka ... Katie," I reply, remembering just in time to use my false name. "My friends call me Kat. My husband is Carlton, although he usually goes by the name Cato."

"Sorsha," replies the younger woman. "That's Maybell. Those three are Barlow, Harry and Moose. Welcome to Team Nine. I guess we'll be working together from now on. Work hard and watch your back and you should be okay."

"Right! Let's get you lot to work," orders Fowler, interrupting our introductions. He quickly checks we are all present before handing a sheet of paper to Barlow. Fowler walks back into his office while Barlow reads the sheet.

"Track clearing ... again," mutters Barlow. "Come on."

He leads us along the rail track in the opposite direction to the one the train arrived and departed.

"Where does this railroad line go?" I ask Sorsha.

"We don't get told much, but I gather an aerial survey identified an abandoned city on the other side of the hills up ahead. A small settlement has already been established there, but it needs an overland link to the rest of Panem. Apparently supplying the settlement by air isn't practical during winter. Fowler said that reopening this old railroad is the only way of getting enough supplies through to the settlement. But we have only four months to clear and rebuild the remaining stretch of track before winter sets in. We've lost several weeks by having to rebuild the bridge up ahead."

"I don't know anything about building bridges," I say.

"Nobody here does. Apart from the Chief Engineer. Anyway, we're assigned to clearing the undergrowth from the track ahead," says Sorsha. "Once the bridge is complete, Sunny Glenn will be moved to the new railhead. How far away that is depends the teams assigned to track clearance."

We reach the site of the bridge. There are several teams busy working here. Most teams seem to be a mixture of orange-clad prisoners and grey-clad free citizens. The rusting remains of the old metal bridge are still visible. A new timber trestle bridge is being built a few metres upstream. Crossing either bridge would be hazardous, so we follow a rough trail down a steep bank before wading across the river. Fortunately it's summer, so the water level is low. I'd wouldn't want to try this crossing after heavy rain. We scramble up the other side to rejoin the rail track. The line has been repaired in places, although the rusty rails still don't look too safe.

"They're just temporary repairs for the jigger," says Moose when he sees me examining the track. "Once the bridge is finished they can transport new rail and timbers across the river and repair the track properly."

The eight of us board one of several small motorised rail vehicles which Moose referred to as a jigger. It takes us on a ride of about two kilometres, which is as far as the track has been repaired. We leave the jigger and Barlow guides us further along the track bed until we reach an area which hasn't been cleared yet. A supply of tools is waiting for our use.

We set to work clearing trees and scrub from the track bed. Every two hours we are allowed a ten minute break. I soon realise that Cato and I should have brought food and drink with us. Fortunately Sorsha and Moose are willing to share what they have, although I'm sure they'll expect repayment in kind tomorrow. Finally approaching darkness forces us to halt our work and head back to Sunny Glen. Crossing the river in the dark is particularly hazardous and Harry injures his leg when he loses his footing. Cato and I help him back to camp when it becomes obvious that none of the others are going to do so.

It must be about ten o'clock when Cato and I return to our hut. We are tired from our day's exertions but are nevertheless able to share more than a simple goodnight kiss. Our lovemaking isn't as physical as we normally prefer, but we are both more than contented by the time we finish. As we settle down to sleep I realise that despite the harsh conditions and grueling work, I think I can manage this life for the year we must spend here. For now, any thoughts of escape are pushed to the back of my mind. Besides, Sorsha has warned Cato and I that the whole team will be punished if any member of the team makes an escape attempt.

The next four weeks follow a similar pattern. At the end of the second week I take a risk and buy the bow and arrows from Jed's store. It's a gamble, since I must use most of that week's money which Cato and I need to buy food. If I don't catch enough game, then we could go hungry, or be forced to borrow money from someone like Crassus. We still need to repay the advance we were given on our first day, and time is running out.

I needn't have worried about catching food. There's plenty of game deeper in the woods. The few other prisoners who try hunting lack the skills to achieve more than a lucky catch. My success at catching larger game has enabled me to earn extra money, as well as provide the camp with some fresh meat. I start taking my bow and arrows with me when we go out to work. The dangers of the wilderness mean the guards don't object to prisoners carrying a weapon ... as long as the weapon is never used to threaten another person. Game is plentiful near to where we are working, and yesterday I killed a rabbit and two squirrels during our rest breaks.

Unfortunately work on the bridge is further delayed by a spell of bad weather. When it clears we find our hours of work are increased to eleven hours a day. More accidents occur as a result of tiredness. In one day alone, two men and a woman die while working on the bridge. Additional prisoners arrive on each supply train, but the numbers barely keep pace with the losses due to injuries and deaths or, for a fortunate few, freedom.

Each morning we are either made to work on the bridge, or are taken to clear a section of trackbed. By now the bridge is almost complete and new rail and timbers are already being brought across it to replace the temporary repairs to the track. Fowler informs us that the Sunny Glen will be transported to a new location as soon as a suitable site can be found. Which might be more difficult than expected. Once over the river bridge, the route of the old railroad turns away from the river and climbs up a narrow gorge. The steep sides of the gorge make finding a new site for Sunny Glen uncertain.

We spend today clearing a section of the track bed, about six kilometres from Sunny Glen's current location. By now the railroad has climbed out of the gorge and we seem to have reached the summit of the line. As we clear the area near the summit we realise that there are additional rail tracks running alongside the one we have been following. It may be nothing more than a crossing place to allow two trains to pass each other. However, we soon realise there are traces of ruined buildings hidden in the undergrowth. A small settlement, perhaps? This might be a good place to relocate Sunny Glen.

Harry is our team leader for this week, and he decides against immediately sending anybody back to Sunny Glen with our news. He's taking a risk, since the Chief Engineer might think he should be informed at once of our discovery.

"Kat! Go and explore the area over there," orders Harry. "Be back here by our next break."

Harry's giving me about forty minutes. Apart from Moose and Cato's knives, I'm the only one carrying a weapon. My tracking skills mean I'm less likely to blunder into a bear or a mountain lion. Three prisoners have been killed by wild animals in the last ten days, and few are now willing to wander far from their work party.

I ready my bow and set off in the direction Harry indicated. The area is fairly flat, and the signs of a former settlement become more obvious the further I walk. No buildings remain standing, but the overgrown brick foundations hint at what might have been here a couple of hundred years ago. Before long I come across the remains of small bridge over a stream. The bridge has partially collapsed, creating a low dam and waterfall. The small pond behind the dam might provide a good watering hole for the residents of a relocated Sunny Glen.

My search disturbs a wild boar who seems intent on defending his territory. I tread carefully. Although I'm armed with a bow and arrow, it would require an exceptionally good shot to fell an enraged boar with one arrow. I take up position and let the boar make the next move.


	18. Something to report

18\. Something to report

The boar loses interest and shuffles off into the woods. It's not worth my while trying to hunt it. I'm only allowed to keep any kills made during my rest break, or while I'm off duty. If I killed this boar, then I'd have to hand it over to the guards, and they eat well enough as it is. I wait a few moments before resuming my exploration. By the time I return to Harry and the others, I'm certain there was once a reasonably large settlement here. I've also located traces of an old road, which seems to lead down a valley to the north-east. Without knowing the location of the ruined city, I don't know if the direction of the road provides any help to our work.

I report my findings to the others, who have also made a few discoveries, including a less welcome one. Up ahead there's evidence of a large landslide which has cut away a fifty metre section of the railroad. Cato takes me to the site during our next break. I'm not an engineer, but I'm guessing it would take months to rebuild or divert the railroad.

We spend the rest of the day clearing the area around the old settlement. Another couple of days' work and the cleared area should be large enough to accommodate Sunny Glen. By that time the track repairs should also have reached this location. As dusk approaches we walk the kilometre or so to where the jigger is parked. Now that the river bridge is in use, the Chief Engineer has halted the temporary track repair work which was good enough for the lightweight jigger to transport us. Instead, all the track repair work is concentrated on making permanent repairs suitable for the heavyweight locomotives and freight cars. This work, of necessity, is slower, and the walk from the jigger to our work site has gradually increased.

We reach Sunny Glen about forty minutes after sunset. The Chief Engineer has finished work for the day, so Harry reports our discovery to Fowler. He promptly summons all of our team to the white hut, while he goes to find the Chief Engineer. There's a tense few minutes while Harry explains why news of our discovery wasn't relayed earlier. Fortunately our delay in returning to Sunny Glen means we've more detail to report; a fact which seems to placate the Chief Engineer. Still, I wouldn't like to be in Harry's situation at the moment. The Chief Engineer fetches a large map from a cabinet, along with several other maps which seem much older.

"Prisoner Deane," says the Chief Engineer. "Is this the road you saw?"

I assume he is talking to me rather than Cato, who also goes under the false name of Prisoner Deane. I walk forward to look at the map laid out on the table. I've seen a map like this once before. It's made up a series of aerial photographs cleverly linked together. This map, however is just a mass of mountains, rivers and forests. The road the Chief Engineer is pointing to on the map appears as a barely visible disconnected line through the forest.

"I don't know, sir," I reply. "The road heads down a valley to the north-east of the old settlement we discovered. Without knowing where we are on the map, I can't tell whether that's the road I saw."

The Chief Engineer is torn between allowing me more information about our current location ... information which would be useful in an escape ... or to rely on his own judgement based on what I and the others have described.

"Everyone leave," orders the Chief Engineer. "Except Prisoner Deane."

Nobody needs telling twice and the room empties in seconds. Apart from Cato, who lingers a while, before Fowler pulls him away. I just wish I was allowed to go with them. The Chief Engineer opens out one of the older maps. It's badly faded. What must have once been a protective covering has cracked and broken away in places.

"This is a map of this area before the cataclysm," says the Chief Engineer. "Our current location is here. The settlement you found must be this place here ... Breakheart Pass. If that's so, then the road you saw leads down this valley before joining a larger eastbound road from the city we are trying to reach. It's a long detour, but if the railroad line is severed as you say, then it may serve as a means of supplying the city until we can repair the line."

"Yes, sir" I reply, not certain what I'm expected to say at this point.

"In the morning, Fowler will reassign you to a team who will survey the road you found. The man I place in charge of the team will give you further instructions if and when you reach the junction with the eastbound road. You are to obey those instructions as though they come from me."

I quickly look at the map before the Chief Engineer can whisk it away from my prying eyes. The city which must be our ultimate goal is north-west of Breakheart Pass. It looks quite large although much of that part of the map is worn and illegible. Even the city's old name is obscured. I look back to the newer map and mentally try to overlay the two maps. The mountains and rivers provide good reference points, but the canopy of the forest covering most of the new map hides the detail shown on the old map.

I could question why I've been chosen for this mission, but I suppose my tracking and hunting skills make me a likely candidate. Although I rarely see the Chief Engineer, let alone talk to him, I know that his word is law around Sunny Glen.

"Is my husband allowed to come with me?" I ask.

"Absolutely not!" snorts the Chief Engineer. "Do you think me a fool. He stays here to ensure you don't disappear on your journey. Fail to return and he'll pay the price. And just remember that I know who you are, Katniss Everdeen. Behave and your identity will remain a secret until our mutual friend is ready to play out his plan."

"I'd like to meet this mutual friend of ours sometime," I reply, trying hard to disguise my shock at this revelation. "Does he have a name?"

"I presume so, but like you I've never learned of it. Be patient, Katniss. Big changes are in the wind, but only if we all play our part. Now go and join young Cato and make the most of your time together tonight. You will likely be apart for a few weeks."

I return to our hut where Cato is anxiously waiting. We share a kiss and embrace as I tell him about my meeting with the Chief Engineer. Cato doesn't seem too surprised that our real identities are known to the Chief Engineer. On reflection, I suppose it makes sense in a way. More than one person must have been involved in our escape from the arena and our arrival here under false names.

Cato doesn't waste any time removing my clothes as soon as I mention the Chief Engineer's suggestion that we make the most of our last night together. I respond in kind and our play becomes both intimate and rough. Our relationship has advanced beyond the initial exploratory stage where we test each others likes and dislikes in our games. If we wanted, we could bring each other to unstoppable orgasms inside a few minutes. Some nights we do that over and over again until we pass out from exhaustion. Tonight we don't do that. By unspoken agreement we explore new games, and a few which we have tried before in different circumstances. It's not something which will guarantee unbridled success, but the chance of discovering new sensations outweighs the risk of an unrewarding experience.

Cato manages to keep me aroused for a long time. His satisfaction at my actions isn't quite so obvious, although he doesn't try to control my wandering hands as they explore every part of his body. He's certainly eager to enter my body when my own actions indicate that I'm ready. If I'm sore in the morning from all Cato's attention, then I'll carry my wounds with pride.

Eventually we fall asleep entwined in each others arms. I wake to the smell of the cooked breakfast which Cato has prepared. I hunt around for my clothes but they are nowhere to be seen. Cato is obviously playing games with me. But I refuse to be angry on what may be my last morning with Cato for a while. I sit down to breakfast without a stitch of clothing on my body. As soon as I realise the effect I'm having on Cato, I deliberately start to use my nakedness to arouse him even more. We don't have time for more than what is often referred to as a 'quickie'. Our work day starts at eight o'clock and it's already well past seven.

After mocking my wantonness, Cato relents and produces my clothes. I quickly dress and freshen up. I'll have to forego the dubious pleasure of a swim in the river, and must use the night pot instead of trekking to the communal toilets. Cato can empty it later ... his punishment for hiding my clothes.

As we do every morning now that our work hours have been extended, we report to the foreman's hut at the same time as all the other workers. Only those who have today off as their rest day aren't gathered in front of Fowler's office. The usual procedure is for Fowler to call each team leader forward in turn to receive their instructions for today. However, today he firstly reads out four names, mine included, and instructs us to report immediately to the Chief Engineer. I quickly kiss Cato goodbye and walk towards the white hut. I don't know the other three people called, but from their expression they are mystified by the summons. The woman is about my age and wears the grey uniform labelling her as a free citizen. The two men are in their mid-twenties and both wear the orange uniform of prisoners.

Maggie escorts us into the office where the Chief Engineer and a man wearing the blue uniform of a guard are waiting. The Chief Engineer promptly repeats what he told me last night, although he doesn't produce any of the maps. He introduces the guard as Dominus. I've heard that name used by prisoners when addressing other guards, so it may be a title rather than a name. Either way, this Dominus is clearly going to be in charge of our mission.

"There's a rucksack of supplies for each of you over there," says Dominus, as soon as the Chief Engineer leaves us. "You have ten minutes to go and pack your personal belongings. By the time you return from this mission they will probably have moved Sunny Glen to a new location. Board one of the jiggers for the railhead when you are ready. Don't miss the last one or you'll have a long walk."

I go to find Cato as soon as I've collected my belongings. He's already on board the jigger with the rest our usual work team. I explain to Harry that I'll be parting company with them at the railhead, although it seems Fowler has already told him. I look around for the rest of the people who will be joining the survey party, but I can't see them. They have either already left, or will be boarding one of the remaining jiggers.

The jigger leaves as soon as it has a full load. The ride and the walk to Breakheart Pass takes about forty minutes. During our journey Barlow gives me a quick briefing about the other people in the survey party. He's been here for nearly a year and knows most of the prisoners in Sunny Glen. Once we all arrive, Dominus assembles our party, makes a brief round of introductions, and has us quickly check our supplies. In particular he checks who is carrying what weapons, and each person's proficiency at using what they carry.

"Afraid we might slit your throat once we are out of sight of the others," quips the man who calls himself Snook.

Snook isn't his real name, and despite his apparent bravado, Barlow said he's not a real threat. The other male prisoner, Lepidus, is potentially more dangerous. He's probably been chosen because of the bad blood between him and a group of other prisoners. The girl my age is Augusta. She was once a citizen of the Capitol, but no longer. Barlow didn't know the details of why Augusta renounced her Capitol citizenship and volunteered to join us at Sunny Glen.

Augusta is unarmed, while Lepidus carries a machete. Snook has a knife and a sling, neither of which he has ever used against a moving target. As for me, I am proficient with both the knife I carry, and my bow and arrows. Satisfied we are ready, Dominus leads us towards the overgrown road I saw yesterday. We follow the road for about a kilometre before I sense that we're being watched from the undergrowth at the side of the road.

The other four are oblivious to the danger. Even when they see me notch an arrow they show no signs of concern. Perhaps they think I'm simply showing off. Dominus only carries nothing more dangerous than a stun stick, although he may have a firearm inside his rucksack. All of them could be a serious liability if we come face to face with anything dangerous. And that could be at any moment.


	19. A warning

19\. A warning. 

"We're being watched," I call to the others from my assigned position at the rear of our party.

"Yeah, sure," laughs Snook, who leaves his knife tucked inside the flap of his rucksack.

At the front of our line of march, about thirty metres ahead of me, Dominus either doesn't hear my warning, or he chooses to ignore it. Fortunately Lepidus takes my warning seriously and he draws his machete and scans the nearby scrub.

"Over there. To our right," I say.

That's all the warning anyone gets. A boar ... possibly the one I saw yesterday ... charges out of the trees and makes a beeline for Snook. Anybody with any survival instinct at all would move out of the way. Not Snook. He freezes. He's dead meat unless we can stop the boar before it reaches him. I loose an arrow into the beast's hind leg, intending to halt its charge rather than riskier option of trying to kill it outright. Lepidus drags Snook out of the way, before advancing on the boar. Dominus brandishes his stun stick although I doubt it will be of much use against an enraged boar.

My arrow has achieved two things; it has slowed the boar down, and it has confused the animal as to who should be the target of its rage. It is thrashing about too much for me to get a clean shot with my bow. The stun stick proves to be useless and Dominus retreats to where Snook and Augusta are cowering by the roadside. Dominus doesn't make any attempt to open his rucksack, so I guess he's not carrying a firearm inside. For the moment neither Lepidus nor I can get close enough to deliver a killing blow. However, between us we keep the beast at bay until it begins to tire. Finally Lepidus sees his chance and drives his machete into the boar's neck. It goes down with a grunt.

"Well done," I say to Lepidus.

"I think you and I can claim a share of that kill," replies Lepidus. "Without your arrow in its hind quarters, I doubt I'd have been able to get close enough."

We leave the dead beast where it is. Although it would provide fresh meat, it's too heavy to take with us, and Dominus decides that taking it back to the others would delay us too long. My opinion of Lepidus improves. He's obviously capable of taking care of himself in the wilds. As for Snook and Augusta, I still wonder what useful purpose either of them will serve on this mission.

We resume our journey. The going is remarkably easy on foot, even though the surface of the road is in poor shape. Several fallen trees and slips will need clearing before vehicles can use this road, but they aren't serious obstacles to us. Dominus hands Snook a sheet of paper and a pencil and tells him to make notes about the obstacles we find. When I look at what he has written, I'm impressed by the detail of his notes.

"I used to work for a roading contractor before I was arrested," says Snook when he sees my reaction.

That might explain why Samuel N. Rook, alias Snook, is on this mission. He's still going to be a liability if we run into trouble, but his skills are needed for the moment.

The valley opens out as we get further away from Breakheart Pass. We come across a few bridges spanning small streams running off the surrounding hills. We briefly stop at each bridge so that Snook can check the bridge's foundations. I've no idea whether he's qualified to make any useful assessment, but I know that I'm not.

We continue on at a good pace. By late afternoon we reach what I think might be the half way point between Breakheart Pass and where this road joins the eastbound road from the city. I recall seeing a knoll on the old map similar to the one rising above us now. On the map the road curves around the knoll before resuming its north-easterly course. I suggest to Dominus that the knoll might be a good place to stop for the night. It will provide a defensible position against any prowling wild animals. We could also take a look from the top of the knoll to see what lies ahead of us.

Our rucksacks contain enough food for four days. After that we'll need to rely on what we can gather and hunt. Which I guess will be my responsibility given none of the others seem to have any skills in that department. Feeding five of us will be a challenge. However, if we can reach the junction with the other road by tomorrow night, then we might be able to reach the city within two days from there. Assuming, of course, that's to be our destination. Alternatively we can make it back to Sunny Glen before our food runs out.

I still don't know why Augusta is with this party. She has no survival skills worth noting, and unlike Snook, she has no specialist skills needed on this mission. Indeed, I again start to wonder about the presence of Lepidus. He has good fighting instincts, but they are hardly unique among the hundred or so prisoners and free citizens of Sunny Glen. Perhaps Barlow is right, and Lepidus is here to keep him away from his enemies.

Dominus accepts my recommendation about using the knoll for a camp site. We find a gap in the trees and climb up the knoll to the summit. It's a stiff climb, but well within our capabilities. If nothing else, working at Sunny Glen keeps us all fit. The steep slopes of the knoll should discourage all but the hungriest of wild animals, should any fancy one of us as its next meal. Lepidus makes a fire while the rest of us pitch the three tents. Once the camp is ready, we settle down to eat.

Before it goes dark, I take the opportunity to scan the land around us from the knoll. Dominus has already had a good look and seems satisfied at what he saw. However, he doesn't seem comfortable in the wilderness and he might have missed something my more experienced eye might notice. From my vantage point I can see the road ahead for about a kilometre before it becomes lost in the surrounding trees. There's no sign of the old city, or the road leading from it, although segments of the wide river I saw on the map can be seen near the horizon. Between the river and the forest I detect large patches of reeds and other vegetation I associate with swamps and marshland. The old map showed no indication of swampy ground on this side of the river, so it is possibly something which has formed since the cataclysm. We're too far away to tell whether the change has any impact on our mission.

Crossing the wide river is likely to be the greatest obstacle before reaching the city. In the past there will undoubtedly have been bridges over the river, but we've no idea whether any are still standing. Perhaps the Chief Engineer already knows the answer to that. It seems likely that the aerial survey would have established which bridges, if any, are still standing. Failing that, the settlers who have occupied part of the old city would surely have checked the state of the river bridges before now.

I return to the tent I'm to share with Augusta. She's already under her blanket and reading an old book in the failing light. Few prisoners have books among their possessions. Jed's store only stocks a dozen or so battered and over-priced tomes, so reading is a luxury.

"How far is it to the city?" asks Augusta.

Her question takes me by surprise. She seems certain we are going as far as the city. All we've been told is that we're to explore the road we've been following. However, the whole camp will have heard the rumours that the railroad is being rebuilt to link an old city to the rest of Panem. I suppose that it's a reasonable guess that the city is the goal of this survey.

"We don't know if we can reach the city from this road," I reply. "Presumably that's one of the things the Chief Engineer wants us to find out."

"Even if it doesn't go directly to the city, it must surely link up with a road that does," replies Augusta. "Do you think we can make it to the city before our food runs out?"

"I don't know. Anyway, why are you so eager to reach the ruins of an old city?"

"I thought you knew. My husband, Saul, is the leader of the settlers in the city. I've not heard from him for nearly two years. It's why I volunteered to come to Sunny Glen."

"No, I didn't know about your husband," I reply.

It explains why Augusta wants to be on this mission, but not why the Chief Engineer has agreed to let her come with us. There's obviously a lot more to this mission than I've been told.

We resume our journey early the next day. The valley has opened out, making it easy going along a more-or-less straight road. The road surface is in poor condition, but once nature's invasion has been pushed back, I see no reason why trucks couldn't use this route within a matter of weeks.

About four o'clock in the afternoon we arrive at the junction with what was once a broad road heading east and west. I don't recall any other roads shown on the old map, so the road heading west must lead to the city. Continuing along the road we have been following will bring us to the river's edge, which is visible about half a kilometre ahead of us.

"Prisoner Deane," orders Dominus. "Scout the road ahead of us as far as the river and see if there's a bridge. The rest of you make camp. We'll stop here for the night."

I set off at once. As I get closer to the river's edge I see evidence of frequent floods and erosion. There's no sign of a bridge ever having existed in this place. I didn't take a close enough look at the old map to see if it shows a bridge here. In places the road is buried in silt. In others it has subsided and is probably under water when the river runs high. I reach the end of the road with difficulty, to find the remains of a stone wharf. Like the road, it has subsided in places and there is evidence it is underwater for some of the time. The opposite riverbank is about two hundred metres away and the fast flowing churning waters hint at underwater obstacles. It seems unlikely that a boat could navigate the river upstream, in the direction of the city.

I return to the others to report my observations. Dominus had clearly wished for better news but doesn't share his thoughts with the rest of us. We've still several hours of daylight left, so I'm puzzled by his choice to camp here. Unless, of course, this is as far as he has been ordered to survey. The Chief Engineer mentioned there would be further orders once we reached this place.

"What do we do now, Dominus?" asks Augusta. Her grey uniform affords her certain privileges, such as being able to ask questions of a guard.

"We split up in the morning. I'm ordered to send my report back to the Chief Engineer."

"Well, I'm not going back to Sunny Glen now we're this close to the city," announces Augusta. "My husband won't be pleased if that happens."

If Augusta was a prisoner, she would undoubtedly have earned herself a rebuke from Dominus. But he doesn't say anything. I wouldn't mind returning to Sunny Glen sooner rather than later. The prospect of seeing Cato inside a few days pleases me greatly, but I doubt it is what the Chief Engineer anticipated when he said we might be apart for a few weeks. Snook and I are probably the two Dominus will need the most on his quest to reach the city. Snook is the only one who can assess the viability of the road, while my hunting skills will be needed once the food runs out. As if torn by the same dilemma, Dominus sends Snook and I on a short scouting mission to assess the state of the city-bound road as far as we can complete in the remaining hours of daylight.

Snook and I set off as soon as possible. The road runs parallel to the river at a distance of about eighty metres. The low lying sections of the road show signs of periodic flooding, but for the most part the road is in no worse condition than the one we followed from Breakheart Pass. We manage to walk a distance of about five kilometres before the failing light forces us to turn back.

"If the rest of the road to the city is in this sort of condition, then it should be possible to have a road between the railhead and the city operational within a few weeks," says Snook.

"That's a big 'if'" I reply. "The road runs closer to the river here, and the surrounding ground has turned into a swamp. The road up ahead may have sunk into the mire."

"Perhaps the surrounding area has always been a swamp," says Snook. "In which case the road will have been built with the proper foundations."

"I don't think this area has always been a swamp. Those ruins over there look like building foundations. Buildings would suggest that this was once solid ground. But we've completed our task, so lets make our way back."


	20. Obeying orders

20\. Obeying orders

It is dark by the time we return to the camp. We make our report to Dominus who adds Snook's notes to the ones Snook made earlier.

"Get some sleep," says Dominus. "We all have an early start tomorrow."

He makes no comment about whether Snook and I are to continue on towards the city in the morning. I join Augusta in our tent. She asks me about the condition of the road ahead, and I tell her what Snook and I found. Like Snook, she dismisses my concerns that the road beyond where Snook and I explored may be badly damaged or destroyed. She is obviously excited at the prospect of seeing her husband again soon.

Dominus rouses us as the first hint of dawn lights the sky. We quickly dress and have breakfast. Dominus calls me aside while the others clear the camp ready for our departure.

"Prisoner Deane," begins Dominus. "The Chief Engineer instructed me to send two of my party back to Sunny Glen to report on our progress once we reached this location. He made certain recommendations, but ultimately left the choice of who to send to me. The condition of the road is better than the Chief Engineer expected, and we have arrived here a full day earlier than anticipated. In short, we are in a much better situation than the Chief Engineer believed likely. Consequently I'm going to alter the Chief Engineer's instructions and send one person back alone. Although the Chief Engineer advised keeping you with my party, I've decided that you are the one I can spare. We will easily reach the city before our food runs out, so I won't need your hunting skills."

I can find several flaws in Dominus's logic, but the Chief Engineer specifically told me to obey the orders I was given. I would have thought Lepidus would be a better choice to return, but perhaps Dominus doesn't trust him to be on his own. I'm not usually good at obeying orders, but the prospect of seeing Cato sooner rather than later, encourages my compliance.

Dominus is taking a huge gamble. There are only two days of food left in our packs ... three if everyone goes on short rations. He's planning on finding a new source of food soon, which means reaching the settlement in the old city within the next few days. Achieving that is possible, but by no means certain. Although it's not my responsibility, I feel I ought to do what I can to help.

"Yes, Dominus," I reply. "Do you wish me to transfer any of the food in my pack to the others? It will mean I can travel faster, and I can hunt for food on my return journey."

"Hmmm ... good idea," says Dominus. "Leave anything else you don't need for your journey. This sealed packet contains my report and Prisoner Rook's notes. Make sure it reaches the Chief Engineer as soon as possible. Depart when you are ready."

Within fifteen minutes I'm on my way towards Sunny Glen. The others are busy packing their gear, so there's only the briefest of farewells. The sight of them forming a line of march behind Dominus is the last I see of them.

I can travel faster than yesterday since I've no need to stop to examine every bridge and obstacle. If I could be certain that Sunny Glen had been relocated to Breakheart Pass, I might try pushing hard to reach there tonight. But it seems unlikely that Sunny Glen has been moved so soon. Arriving tired and hungry at a deserted location at night would be risky. Although I haven't seen any dangerous animals since the boar attacked Snook yesterday morning, I don't fool myself into believing there aren't plenty of beasts in this forest who would readily attack a lone traveller. My orange uniform makes me far too easy for a predator to see.

I slow my rapid progress a few hours later. My instincts warn me that I'm not alone. The abundant birdsong I heard five minutes ago has stilled and now there's an eerie silence. I notch an arrow to my bow, and scan the trees and bushes either side of the road as I walk. I'm exposed on this road, but it means any animal trying to attack me must run across open ground. It would provide enough time for me to make at least one shot. A pack of wolves would be the most dangerous, although obviously I'd prefer to avoid any entanglement with a bear or a mountain lion.

What I don't anticipate is that my watchers might be human. A few hundred metres further on I can see a man lying in the middle of the road ahead of me. He's not wearing a uniform, so it's unlikely he's from Sunny Glen. Could he be from the settlement in the old city? Perhaps, but again unlikely. This place is a many kilometres from the old city. A trap, then? More than likely.

I don't run to examine the prone man since I suspect that's what I'm being lured into doing. Instead I take cover in the trees to my left and work my way deeper into the forest. I'm far enough away that I can't be seen from the road. I've avoided any trap ... so far. I find a suitable tree and climb up into the lower branches. My bright orange clothes make concealment in the bushes virtually impossible, but anybody following me might not think to look up. Of course, if they do, then I'm trapped.

I wait to see what happens. My patience is rewarded when I hear the sound of voices from the road. I count four different voices arguing about what to do next. At least one of them must have seen where I left the road since there's the sound of movement in the area where I entered the forest. Their movement through the undergrowth isn't subtle, suggesting they aren't experienced hunters.

"She can't have gone far," comes a voice not far from my hiding place. "That orange uniform means she must be from the work camp on the other side of the ridge. Escaped prisoner, most likely. A young girl from what I could make out."

"She's lost her way then," laughs another man. "She probably doesn't realise that she's heading back towards the camp."

"Hah! The chance of some fun and a reward as well," chortles a third man.

"I know your idea of fun, Rufus," replies the first man. "Just don't damage her too much that we can't claim the bounty for capturing her alive."

"Can't understand why they don't pay the same whether they're dead or alive. They hang escaped prisoners anyway," replies the man who must be Rufus.

"A public hanging deters the other prisoners," says a fourth man. "Anyway, we have to catch her first. Here girlie girlie. Where are you my pretty?"

My instinct to hide proves to be fully justified. These men aren't going to be interested in the reason why I'm on this road. What I don't understand is where are they from, and what are they doing here. I stay perfectly still and listen carefully.

They prattle on while they search, giving me the advantage of knowing where they are. Which suggests that they're opportunists rather than professional bounty hunters. It makes them no less dangerous, though. At some point they must have split up because a few minutes later a couple of them come blundering back towards where I am hiding.

"She must have doubled back at some point," grumbles one of the men.

"Well, good luck to her, then," replies the other man. "Let Rufus and Gregor keep looking. I'll not risk the foreman's wrath for being late back at the mill."

"Nor me," says his companion. "Come on, we've about fifteen minutes before our next shift starts."

The two men move out of earshot. As far as I can tell they've done as they've said, and returned to work. Alternatively, it could be a trap to lure me out of hiding. I decide to stay put for now, particularly as the other two men are still searching for me.

While I wait, I try to make sense of what the men said. They referred to a mill, by which I presume they mean a sawmill. Cato and I discovered on our first day here that we're in the outer reaches of District Seven. Which means lumber is the primary industry hereabouts. It's possible these men work for a small independent operator, who has set up business in the unclaimed wilderness away from the large conglomerates which control most of Panem's industries. But, if so, how are they getting the lumber out of this forest? The old map showed only one road in this valley, and it hasn't been used by vehicles for many years. Aerial recovery would be prohibitively expensive. Which leaves river or rail ... or a private track through the forest.

The road is slightly above the valley floor, so it's possible that there's a river flowing down the valley which I haven't seen. It would probably open out into the large river which Dominus and the others are following. Similarly a private track might join that road, since there's no sign of any track joining the road from Breakheart Pass. A rail link doesn't seem likely, although a spur from the railroad we have been restoring might enable the lumber to go as far as the old city.

However, regardless of the method of moving the lumber, it doesn't explain where the lumber goes next. There's no overland link to the rest of Panem, so apart from the settlement in the old city, there's no market for what the sawmill produces. And if this sawmill is built specifically to service the settlement, then why isn't it located closer to the city? There must be plenty of good lumber much nearer to the old city.

Too many questions without answers for my liking, but there's nothing I can do about it at the moment. I remain still and listen out for any sounds of Rufus and Gregor. After two hours I decide I must risk carrying on my way. It seems likely that the two men have given up and returned to work. I climb down from the tree and make my way carefully through the woods. I keep close to the road, but I don't risk setting foot on it.

I'm still concerned that my orange clothes are too easily seen, particularly as the forest thins in places and I must cross open ground. I decide my life is worth more than my pride, so I stuff my shirt and trousers in my rucksack and carry on wearing only my underwear. It's fortunate I decided to buy this underwear in preference to my own pair of boots. Cato was all for me carrying on wearing no underwear. Fewer obstacles when he's undressing me, he claimed. Which is true, but it isn't a very comfortable option when wearing the coarse fabric of the prison uniforms. Cato relented and I'm glad I'm not having to walk through this forest wearing nothing but my boots. Of course the thought of Cato undressing me makes my mind wander onto more intimate things despite my predicament. These last few days away from him have made me realise how much I value Cato's night time devotions to my body.

I keep an arrow notched in case of predators ... the four legged kind as well as the two legged variety. Apart from a few snakes and the occasional glimpse of wild pigs, I don't see anything too dangerous. I gather a few berries on my way, and manage to kill a rabbit for a meal later on if I get the opportunity to light a fire. After a couple of kilometres I decide to risk walking on the road again. The diversion has cost me three or four hours, so any idea I had of making it to Breakheart Pass today has well and truly been lost.

In the end I make camp on the knoll where we stopped the night before last. I didn't see any further sign of those men, but that doesn't mean they aren't still somewhere around. I find a hollow where I can light a fire without the risk of it being seen. After eating the rabbit I find a place to sleep in the branches of a tree. The night chill means I must risk wearing my prison uniform.

I wake before dawn and listen carefully for any dangers around me. There are plenty of noises in the forest, and to a trained ear the sounds are different if a large predator is nearby. The greatest danger is when there is no sound at all. That usually means that there are humans skulking about.

I'm reassured by the sounds of the forest and I lower myself to the ground. Despite my earlier confidence, I now sense something isn't quite right. Not with my surroundings, but with me. I feel queasy as though I've eaten something I shouldn't have done. But I'm sure the berries I ate yesterday were fine, and the rabbit was well cooked. I can't blame the water in my flask, as I filled it from the same stream I used on our outward journey. So what can be making feel like this?


	21. Overdue

21\. Overdue

I feel better after a few minutes, although I still can't understand what came over me. I'm normally fit and healthy despite the deprivations of life in the districts. I check my surroundings for any signs of trouble before stepping out onto the road.

I travel as fast as I can manage with my still slightly queasy stomach. I want to reach Breakheart Pass before the work teams there finish for the day. I should make it with plenty of time to spare, but yesterday's close call shows how easily my plans can be thwarted. Today it looks as though the weather is going to be against me. I've not gone far before it starts to rain and it soon turns into a downpour. I could find shelter and wait for the rain to ease, but the dark clouds suggest that won't be for many hours. If I stop I might arrive at Breakheart Pass too late to catch a jigger ride to Sunny Glen.

I trudge on in the rain. My shirt and trousers are sodden and my worn prison-issue boots are letting in water. Perhaps buying my own boots in priority to my underwear might have been a better choice after all. The only dry thing around is the inside of my rucksack. That, at least, seems to be sturdily made and waterproof. I don't need to worry that Snook's notes will be reduced to a soggy mess.

The heavy rain means the risk of attack by a predator is much less likely. Few animals will hunt in this weather unless they are desperate. The sensible ones will have found shelter to ride out the storm. I'm making good progress, although not as fast as I would prefer.

By midday the rain eases and I stop to eat the piece of rabbit I saved from last night. I've decided my wobbly stomach isn't due to the food. I've done my sums and I realise the likely cause is far more personal. I've over two weeks late with my period. Of course my overdue period could be due to the trauma of the Hunger Games and my subsequent transfer to Sunny Glen, but the other explanation is that I'm pregnant. Certainly there's every possibility Cato and I have created a child. We haven't exactly been practising safe sex. In fact nothing about our amorous encounters could be remotely described as safe.

A whole flood of emotions sweep through me as I contemplate the consequences of my pregnancy. I'm not really sure I know how I feel about the prospect of becoming a parent. I'm not even certain what the Chief Engineer will say or do when he finds out. Bringing a child into the world inside a work camp would be both dangerous and irresponsible. But it will be my choice ... or will it? I panic in case the Chief Engineer orders that my pregnancy be terminated at once. While it might be the best solution to my dilemma, I want to be the one who makes the choice, and in my own time. The more I think about it, the less likely it seems that I'll have any say in the matter.

And then there's Cato to consider. Even if by some miracle the Chief Engineer allows me to keep the child, will Cato stand by me and be our child's father. I've not forgotten that our marriage is as fake as our false identities. I would prefer Cato to stay with me because he wants to, and not feel obligated because of our child. Sure, I could probably badger him into playing happy families. After all, he's just as responsible as I am for creating our child.

Perhaps Cato will want me to terminate my pregnancy now. Would I do so if I disagreed? I wish I knew what to do. Apart from Cato, I've nobody I can call a close friend to confide in. I need time to think. That's it! I'll keep my pregnancy a secret from everybody for now. After all, it'll be a few weeks before my pregnancy will become visible. Besides, if I'm wrong, and my overdue period is due to other factors, then nobody will be any the wiser.

I hear the sound of the work teams before I see anything through the trees. I've finally reached Breakheart Pass. As I break through the surrounding forest I can see that a hundred metre stretch of ground on one side of the railroad has been cleared to a depth of nearly sixty metres. It looks as though this area is nearly ready for the arrival of Sunny Glen.

I don't see anybody from my usual work team. I mentally check what day it is and remember that today is our team's rest day. I guess I've missed my day off. I look around for somebody who might be a team leader. Unusually there are two guards here at the railhead. In the weeks that Cato and I have been here, I've only twice seen a guard leave Sunny Glen with a work party. Two guards together must be a first! I go over to talk to them.

"Halt," says the nearest guard as I approach. "Get back to your assigned work at once."

"I'm Katie Deane. I was with the survey party the Chief Engineer sent out four days ago. I've urgent dispatches for the Chief Engineer. Will you let me use a jigger so I can get back to Sunny Glen and deliver them?"

"You'll need to walk," replies the guard. "Anyway, the Chief Engineer isn't at Sunny Glen. He's examining the landslip up ahead. Follow the rail track as far as you can and you'll find him nearby."

I go towards where Cato showed me the landslip the other day. There's a fair amount of activity in this area. I see the Chief Engineer standing under a makeshift shelter studying a map. The rain has eased slightly although the tops of the surrounding hills are still covered in cloud.

"What are you doing here?" says the Chief Engineer when he sees me approach.

"Dominus sent me back to deliver his report," I reply.

"Hmmm. That doesn't explain what **you** are doing here. Who came with you? I instructed that two people return."

"Umm ... Dominus decided to send me back alone. He and the rest of the party pushed on to the old city. His report might explain why he changed your orders."

"Come under this shelter and give me the report," says the Chief Engineer.

He truly doesn't seem happy to see me. I wait patiently while he thumbs through the report and Snook's notes. He doesn't show any indication of what he is thinking as he reads the documents.

"You have done what was asked of you. Do you have anything else to report?"

I tell the Chief Engineer about my trouble with the four men I encountered on the road yesterday. He has me relate the whole episode and appears to be more interested in my news than anything in the documents I delivered. Once again he shows me the old map, and has me identify the location where I encountered the men. I take the opportunity to study other parts of the map, particularly the swampy area Snook and I reached while exploring the city-bound road. Unfortunately that area is on the edge of a damaged part of the old map. However, from what I can see, there was a small settlement where there is now a marsh. The Chief Engineer detects my interest in that part of the map and I'm obliged to tell him what I observed with Snook.

"Why is there no mention of this in the documents you delivered?" asks the Chief Engineer.

"I had no part in writing the documents," I reply. "Dominus didn't show me his report, and Snook ... er, Prisoner Rook ... wrote the notes about the condition of the road. Neither of them seem concerned about the encroaching marshland."

The Chief Engineer goes thoughtful for a while. He puts the old map away and brings out the new map. He studies the area besides the wide river. I wait patiently a few paces away. As much as I would like to study the map, I know I must wait until I'm invited.

"If you're right, then the areas I thought were open grassland are, in fact, marshes. That might explain why no traces of the road are visible on the map. Do you believe the river might be navigable by boat from the wharf that you saw?"

"I don't know. The river is fast flowing and turbulent in places. A large boat might be able to push against the current, but I don't know if the river has a deep enough channel."

"I see," replies the Chief Engineer. "You are dismissed for now. We'll talk some more when I've had time to consider what you've told me. Go find your husband. I'm sure he'll be delighted that you've returned earlier than expected."

I withdraw and head back to the groups clearing the area near the old settlement. The Chief Engineer probably doesn't realise Cato will be back at Sunny Glen resting. I'll either have to wait until the day's shifts are over and hitch a ride back on a jigger, or make the ninety minute walk back on my own. It will be another couple of hours before everyone will start to wrap up their work for the day, so I decide to set off walking. I won't be the first person to walk this route. The prudent ones carry weapons. Wild animals are a constant risk to a lone traveller and the winding narrow strip of open ground formed by the railroad provides little protection from an ambush.

Repairs to the rail track have been advancing at a rapid pace. Another day's work should see the new track reach Breakheart Pass. I soon pass the track gangs laying the new rail, and before long I'm out of sight of everyone. I follow the rail track, keeping an arrow notched in my bow in case of an attack.

By now the rain has eased to an annoying drizzle. I make good progress on the steady downward grade. Twice I hear a large animal in the bushes nearby, but nothing comes of it. By four o'clock I'm crossing the timber trestle bridge over the river and into Sunny Glen. I'm surprised by what I see. All the huts are being mounted onto flat cars lined up along the rail track. A forklift truck must have been brought here on the last supply train. Cato and the others are watching and helping the driver hoist the huts onto the adjacent cars. It probably explains why the huts have been positioned so close to the track. The whole process is remarkably quick. The Chief Engineer obviously intends to have Sunny Glen moved in the next few days.

As soon as Cato sees me he lets out a whoop of joy. I run towards him and we meet with a crash in the middle of a stretch of soggy ground. I belatedly remember that I'm probably pregnant and perhaps I should take more care.

"I wasn't expecting you for another couple of weeks," says Cato. "Could you not reach the city?"

I give Cato a brief summary of my last few days, in between kisses and hugs. He seems as surprised as the Chief Engineer that Dominus chose to send me back to Sunny Glen when he did. Their food supply will be perilously low by now. I just hope they made it through to the settlement inside the city.

"Where are we to sleep tonight?" I ask, noticing our hut is now firmly lashed to a rail flat car.

"I'm assigned to one of the communal tents for males. I assume Maggie will find you a space in one of the women's tents."

"Or we could sleep out under the stars," I say, not wishing to spend another night away from Cato.

"In this weather?" asks Cato.

"Well, perhaps not without a shelter. We could ask Maggie if she has any of the small tents available like the ones the survey team used."

We go to find Maggie, who, as usual, is firmly ensconced inside the white hut. Whether that is because of the rain, or the Chief Engineer's absence is anybody's guess. After a few moments delay, she answers our knock on the door.

"I'm busy," she complains before we can say anything.

The locomotive driver is helping her pack all her paperwork into boxes. I quickly explain what we want and why, but I can tell from her body language that the answer will be 'no'. Instead she assigns me to the same tent as Sorsha and Maybell from our work team. At least I'll be with people I know. Cato and I leave feeling disappointed. We haven't gone far before the locomotive driver catches up to us.

"If you want somewhere for the night, then the boxcar next to the locomotive will be empty tonight. You can sleep in there if you like. I don't mind, and if you're quiet, then nobody else will bother to check on the car until morning."

I'm so excited I practically kiss the driver. Fortunately I hold on to my good sense. Cato and I check out the boxcar in question and accept the driver's offer. We return to the others who are struggling with the loading of one of the store huts onto a flat car. The hut seems intent on breaking apart despite everyone's best efforts. Finally it's in place, although whether it can be unloaded successfully is another matter.

By now the work teams are returning from Breakheart Pass. Before long it will be meal time and then an early night ... at least for Cato and I.


	22. Wicked and perverse

22\. Wicked and perverse

The wooden floor of the boxcar isn't the most comfortable place to lie, but neither of us mind. I spread the plastic sheet from my rucksack onto the floor to shield us from splinters. We don't waste too much time on preliminaries, partly because our wet clothes are uncomfortable, and partly because we are both burning with lust. A lust which we have every intention of satisfying as soon as possible.

Our lovemaking waxes and wanes throughout the night. When exhaustion finally claims Cato, I turn my mind to longer term matters. I'm still torn between telling Cato about my probable pregnancy now, or to wait until I'm certain. Cato's enthusiasm and joy at my return has given me renewed hope that I mean much more to him than simply another female conquest. We've only known each other for a relatively short span of time, and I suppose there are many things about Cato I still need to discover. Perhaps understanding and knowing Cato deep down is what I should do before I spring the news of imminent fatherhood on him.

Finally I fall asleep wrapped in Cato's arms. The combination of the chill morning air and the sound of activity wake us and we quickly dress. Our clothes are still damp, but they have probably dried better in this boxcar than they would have in a tent. Cato opens the boxcar door on the side facing away from the tents and we jump out before anybody questions our presence in the boxcar. The locomotive driver gave us permission to use the boxcar, but a passing guard might think otherwise. We head for the latrines before making our way to the kitchen tent.

The sky is still overcast but it seems to have given up raining for now. The equipment in the kitchen tent has been partially packed ready for transporting, so it's a cold breakfast for everyone this morning. The whole camp is up and about by the time Cato and I have finished eating. Fowler calls everyone together shortly before eight o'clock. He confirms what has been obvious for the last couple of days ... Sunny Glen is being moved to a new location. This afternoon, in fact.

There's plenty of work to do. Some teams are sent up the line to complete the repairs to the track as far as the cleared area. Others are assigned to packing and loading the tents and remaining huts onto the waiting train. Maybell is assigned to be our team leader today, and Fowler hands her a sheet of instructions. I don't know how Fowler decides who should be team leader on any given day. At first I thought the system worked on a weekly rotation, but Fowler seems to change the team leader more or less on whim. Cato and I have never been team leader, while Barlow or Harry are Fowler's usual choices. Not that I really mind. With the role of team leader comes the responsibility for making decisions, like the one that nearly got Harry into serious trouble when we didn't immediately report our discovery of Breakheart Pass.

Despite several near disasters, Sunny Glen is transported up the line and the essential parts unloaded by the time daylight starts to fade. On a brighter day we might have achieved another hour of work, but the grey skies and periodic showers have forced an early halt. The threat of more heavy rain lingers. Our hut wasn't a priority for unloading from the flat car, so we must wait until tomorrow before reclaiming it. Unfortunately, Cato and I aren't allowed to sleep in the boxcar tonight since it is still holds a lot of equipment. We will need to sleep in the communal tents, or find somewhere to make our own personal nest in the surrounding forest. Despite the rain, the forest canopy is thick enough in places to preserve areas of dry ground. I'm delighted when Cato suggests that we camp in the forest. We aren't the only ones choosing to do so. Sunny Glen currently has three married couples plus several other less formal pairings, each of whom prefer their own company to the communal life of the main camp.

Our biggest risk to sleeping in the forest will be prowling animals. I've yet to see a mountain lion in the surrounding forest, but at least two other prisoners claim to have seen one. Bears are a real danger. Two prisoners have been killed and three more injured in bear attacks since Cato and I arrived at Sunny Glen. Wolves and wild pigs have claimed a couple more.

A fire is our best deterrent against any beasts who may come across our camp. There should be enough dry timber in the forest despite all the rain and I gather some as soon as we finish our meal in the mess tent. It takes a while to set up our little camp and get a fire lit. Our chosen spot isn't as private as I would have liked, since the other couples who are sleeping out have set up their places nearby. It's good enough for tonight, and it at least means Cato and I can sleep together, even if wild passionate sex isn't going to be on the agenda.

Our experiences in the Hunger Games training centre mean Cato can sometimes get very self conscious about being intimate if he thinks we are being observed. I, on the other hand, seem to have gone to the other extreme. Not to the extent that I'll deliberately perform in front of a gathered audience, but the prospect of someone being within sight or earshot of our lovemaking doesn't put me off my stride. But then, once I'm aroused, pretty much nothing will stop me from trying to fulfill my desires. Cato knows this, and I soon realise that his plans for me tonight rank as wicked and perverse. So much for being self conscious.

Looking at it from Cato's point of view, the sound of a woman moaning and pleading for him to use her body to please his masculine desires must give an enormous boost to his macho image. Normally Cato doesn't seem all that bothered about how other people view him in the macho department, but I guess that when all's said and done, he's a guy. As I've said I don't care what others think about our sexual proclivities. If they find more pleasure in listening to Cato and I make out, then they can't have very exciting sex lives of their own. Listen and learn if you want. Watch if you must.

Two consecutive nights of extended games of the most intimate nature leave me feeling tired and sore in the morning. And a little queasy. By now I've convinced myself that I'm pregnant and that I'm suffering from morning sickness. I'd feel happier if there was some means of confirming my pregnancy without announcing to anybody that I'm expecting. Anyway, I recall my resolve to get to know Cato better as a person before springing the "baby makes three" surprise. I must make progress on that soon, long before a swelling belly gives the game away.

"Do you ever wonder what will become of us once we serve our time in Sunny Glen?" I ask Cato as we get dressed and pack our things.

"I suspect our mysterious benefactor will have plans for us," says Cato. "He's gone to a lot of trouble to get us this far. I can't see him simply wishing us a happy life and waving us goodbye."

"Hmmm ... nor I," I reply. "I'm not certain I want to wait and find out."

"What?! Do you mean you want to escape and live in this wilderness?"

"Not necessarily," I reply. "But I'm not happy about being a pawn in some grand game played between powerful people. From what I can remember of the game of chess, pawns regularly get sacrificed to protect the powerful pieces."

"You have a point. But I'll not make a good mountain man. Living in the wilderness is okay up to a point, but it isn't a long term solution. Where would we go afterwards?"

My heart misses a beat. Cato said 'we' just now. It's the first indication that he's given that he regards our fake marriage as more than a sham; that I mean more to him than someone to warm his bed and massage his male ego.

"I don't know," I reply. "It depends on whether we're being hunted. But we could be too late if we wait for our official release from the prison sentences. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We'll need to come up with some sort of plan. Slipping away into this forest wouldn't be too hard, but we must remember that the rest of our work team will be punished if we escape. Despite the lax security around Sunny Glen, there haven't been any escapes since we arrived. Besides, we can't risk being caught or our true identities may be revealed. I don't fancy a slow death at the hands of President Snow's torturers. Promise me that you won't do anything rash until we've come up with a good plan."

"Yes, I promise. But I'm going to start doing more than sit around and wait for our fate to be decided for us."

Our conversation halts when we move within earshot of the others. A full day's work lies ahead of us if we are to have Sunny Glen properly up and running by nightfall. Fowler soon has everybody organised. We quickly learn that being seen resting is a sure way to be given extra duties. The only person I don't see all day is the Chief Engineer.

Finally Sunny Glen is in a state of readiness that satisfies Fowler's exacting standards. Cato and I reclaim our hut as soon as we break for the day. I'm looking forward to spending a night on a bed for the first time in a week.

The train departed back to the depot as soon as it was unloaded. With it went two newly released prisoners, one of whom was Crassus. I can't say I'm sorry to see him go, but it reinforces my sense of imprisonment. I can't say why I suddenly feel this way. It's not as though the restrictions we live under in Sunny Glen are that much different from daily life in District Twelve. Apart from having to wear the bright orange prison uniform, that is.

Perhaps it's Prim whom I miss. Even my mother, although for the last few years we've done little more than tolerate each other. It's hardly a relationship I would pine over. Gale? Possibly; although to be honest I've not thought about him that often once my relationship with Cato blossomed. Peeta? No. He was a passing acquaintance rather than a good friend to be missed. He's probably dead anyway. Killed in the same Hunger Games arena that Cato and I survived.

"Does anybody know who won the last Hunger Games?" I ask suddenly.

There's a large group of us sat around the dining tables in mess tent. Cato nearly chokes at my question and does well to disguise his alarm. But it's a safe enough question. None of those who were in Sunny Glen when Cato and I arrived will have seen the latest Hunger Games. There's no electricity here, so no television or radio. But Sunny Glen receives new arrivals twice a week, so one of the newcomers might know the answer to my question.

"Boy from Eleven," says one of the recently arrived free citizens. "Strange ending though. The girl from Two and the boy from Twelve were still in the contest until the final moments. And then a pack of vicious beasts emerges from the woods and the next thing you know the Gamemakers announce the winner. It wasn't one of the most memorable Games. Too much interference by the Gamemakers."

"Yeah," adds a woman prisoner. Another recent arrival. "I counted six tributes killed off by the Gamemakers. There could be more if you question the circumstances of some of the other deaths."

"Six?" challenges the man who answered first. "I didn't count that many incidents where the Gamemakers had a hand in a tribute's death."

"Yeah," continues the woman prisoner. "Boys from Four and Twelve, and the girls from Two, Five, Eleven and Twelve. And I'm not convinced that the death of the boy from Two was all that it was made out to be."

Cato looks at me. This woman can't be the only person to have made that observation. If there's general suspicion about the level of Gamemaker interference in the 74th Hunger Games, then how long before people start to wonder why? I understand Cato's concern and I quickly signal that he should remain calm. There's a huge jump in reasoning between saying six or more tributes were deliberately targeted by the Gamemakers, and saying those tributes were kidnapped from the arena under the disguise of fake deaths. Still, it hints that there's a much bigger game in play than simply foiling President Snow's revenge for the public kiss between Cato and I. Perhaps we aren't the only supposedly deceased tributes to still be alive.

A short while later Cato and I retire to our hut and begin our own nightly games. Tomorrow we must begin to plan our escape in earnest.


	23. Only female

23\. Only female.

Despite Cato and my resolve to find a means of escape, the practicalities of life in Sunny Glen get in our way. The next morning we are all made to assemble for work in front of Fowler's hut at seven-thirty.

"There will be new teams from today," announces Fowler. "More workers will be arriving in Sunny Glen over the next few weeks, so I'm breaking up the existing teams and creating smaller groups. That way all the newcomers can join teams which include some experienced workers."

Fowler promptly reads out our identification numbers and our new team number. Like every prisoner and free citizen of Sunny Glen, I carry my identification number engraved beside my name on the metal band around my wrist. My name, Katie Deane, is of course a fake ... as is Cato's ... but only the two of us and the Chief Engineer know that.

I can remember mine and Cato's identification numbers, but I've never bothered to learn those of the other people we know. Consequently I don't know who will be in Team Sixteen with me, other than Cato won't be one of them. He's been assigned to Team Fourteen. Fowler finally finishes reading his new team allocations and has us gather in our new teams. It's a bit of a muddle. A few can't remember their new team number, and are obliged to ask Fowler to repeat their assignment. That will probably earn them and their new team a punishment of some sort.

Eventually I find the rest of my new team. There are five of us, and I'm relieved to find Moose is among them. It at least means I already know one member of my new team. I've seen the other three men around the camp, two of whom wear the grey uniforms of free citizens. They introduce themselves as Crixus and Pontius, both local lumberjacks from District Seven. The third man is a prisoner called Wulfram from District Eight, although I learn later that his real name is Wilfred.

Fowler doesn't allow us long for introductions. I'm the youngest in our team, and the only female. However, the promised arrival of new workers to swell the team numbers means that state of affairs should only be temporary. Fowler calls Crixus to him, to receive our team's orders for today.

"I hope that husband of yours has left you in a fit state to walk a long way, Kat," laughs Crixus, when he returns to where we are waiting. "We're assigned to locating and following a path down the valley to the north-west."

It's a strange assignment, but we know better than to argue. I grab my backpack and weapons and we all follow Crixus in the direction he indicates. He is carrying a small handwritten map which he keeps to himself. I'm not certain why he refuses to let any of the rest of us see the map. I look around for Cato before we leave, but I can't see him among the crowd.

We find the start of the path easily enough, but we've only travelled twenty metres before we realise it is almost completely overgrown. Fortunately it is easy enough to identify its route. I've seen a similar path near one of the coal mines in District Twelve ... it's an abandoned railroad bed. The track must have been removed many years ago, and only a few scattered remains of the ballast can be seen. But the uniform width and the gentle grade of the path are unmistakeable.

Moose and Pontius carry machetes and they clear enough of the encroaching bush to let us walk unhindered. Crixus walks immediately behind them, while Wulfram and I scan the surrounding forest for predators from the rear. Since Wulfram isn't carrying any weapons, all he can do is raise the alarm if he sees anything.

It's slow going and we can't have gone more than a kilometre by the time Crixus calls for a rest. He still remains tight-lipped about the purpose of our mission and what it is that we are expected to discover. We resume our trek after a five minute break.

Every now and then I catch glimpses of the railroad track that must lead to the city. By now it's about forty metres above us and following a roughly parallel course to this path. We pass the site of the landslip which has cut away a section of the higher track. Fortunately the slip doesn't appear to have blocked this route. We continue on for a few more kilometres before we come to a wide grass covered clearing. The sudden absence of trees makes me think the lumber in this is an area has been felled. A thought which immediately reminds me of the four mill workers I encountered the other day. But we have been travelling in a different direction today, and we must be a good eight or nine kilometres from where I saw them.

The grassy area almost obliterates the path we have been following, making it difficult to keep to our route. More than once, Crixus has us suddenly change course. After a while Crixus realises that my tracking skills are what are keeping us on the correct route, and he has me walk ahead of the group. It's a difficult trail, but I manage to keep us on course. Pontius is not far behind me and I overhear him talking to Crixus.

"This area has been under water at one time," says Pontius to Crixus. "See how the tree line is at a constant height."

"Yeah, I know," replies Crixus. "The map indicates this was once a lake with a dam at the far end. Fowler wants us to find out if the dam is still standing. There's no water here, so it's likely the dam has at least partially collapsed."

Finally I get to know the purpose of our mission. It also provides a possible explanation for why this old railroad bed runs so close to the other. That line is obscured by the trees to our right, but we occasionally get glimpses of it as it bridges streams running off the hills. This may have been the original railroad route to the city until they wanted to build the dam. This valley would be flooded, so they rebuilt the railroad to run above the level of the lake. Now, with the newer route in need of major repairs, we are exploring whether the old route is usable.

I try to recall the maps the Chief Engineer showed me, but I can't remember much about this valley. My attention at the time was on the valley running north-east of Breakheart Pass. The old map was too damaged to show much detail of this valley, but it's likely that it opens out near to the city. Perhaps the broken dam is what has caused the marshland to form near to where I left Dominus and the others.

As far as I'm aware, nobody has heard from the survey party. That doesn't mean they aren't safe and sound, even though they would have run out of food before now. They could still make it back to Sunny Glen if they lived off the plentiful berries in the forest. Or I may have been wrong, and they made it to the settlement inside the old city. However, the Chief Engineer seemed to share my belief that the road was impassable.

By early afternoon we see the dam a kilometre or so ahead of us. It is in ruins, although the rubble still forms a dam of sorts. The remnants of the lake are banked up against the rubble. The exact route of the old railroad is difficult to trace as we get closer to the dam. The lake must have been quite deep at this point and the scouring effects of the water have erased most traces of what was here before. Crixus has us explore the rubble of the dam for a while before deciding we should head back to Sunny Glen. We are not likely to make it back before dark as it is, and we haven't been given any tents or other equipment to enable us to make a proper camp. I take one last look down the valley in the direction of the city. The curvature of the valley means I can't see too far ahead and there's no sign of the wide river which runs from west to east. We must still be ten or more kilometres from the outskirts of the old city. I can see traces of the old railroad bed, and also the newer route descending beyond the dam to meet the old route somewhere beyond my line of sight.

We walk back at a faster pace, trying to outrun the setting sun. None of us want to be trying to find our way back to Sunny Glen in the dark. The route through the forest is easy enough to find in daylight, but it would be far too easy to lose our way in the dark. And then there are the night time predators to worry about.

I haven't previously seen a mountain lion in these hills, but a few prisoners claim to have seen one. Today is the day that I meet one. None of the other four in our team have the slightest concept of stealth. The sound of our passage can be heard for a good distance, giving any animal plenty of warning to either flee, or prepare an ambush. So the mountain lion lying in wait in a tree branch not far from our route suggests it's looking for its next meal. It can't have hunted humans before, or it would know not to attack a group as large as ours. It will pounce on its prey thinking the rest of the group will flee. Possibly some of our group will do just that, but hopefully my comrades have enough intelligence to work as a team. We did discuss what to do if we are attacked, but panic can override everything.

Even though we might overcome an attack by a lion, it doesn't mean that at least one of our party might sustain a serious injury, or even be killed, before we can deal with the lion. A serious injury here in the wilderness is an almost certain death sentence. I see the lion well before it can pounce on Pontius, who is slightly ahead of the rest of us. Unfortunately my position at the back of our group means I can't get a clear shot with my bow. If I shout a warning then anything could happen in the panic which may follow. Equally I can't simply let the lion pounce on Pontius.

"Pontius! Stop!" I say as calmly as I can manage. "All of you turn around slowly and walk behind me."

"I'm in charge, Prisoner Deane," says Crixus. "I'll give the orders."

Fortunately only Crixus fails to heed my warning. I don't think anybody else has seen the lion, which has now changed its attention to Crixus.

"Crixus! There's a lion above you to the left. Get out of the way so I can make my shot," I call.

Had Crixus calmly done as I asked then everything might have been okay. But the fool simply stands there looking up at the tree, and at the lion which is practically licking its lips in anticipation of a good meal. Crixus runs towards me a split second before the lion leaps. Crixus is blocking my shot, but fortunately for him he moved just in time. The lion still catches him a glancing blow, which sends him tumbling to the ground. The lion turns to continue its attack and I finally get a clear shot.

It's several months since I last killed something as large as a mountain lion, but my nerve holds and my shot strikes home cleanly. The lion is dead before it hits the ground, but its momentum still carries it crashing into Crixus, breaking his leg in the process.

We are very late back to camp that night, and not just Cato was getting anxious about our prolonged absence. Then someone sees us approaching and a crowd quickly gathers. They are given the sight of Pontius and Wulfram carrying Crixus on a makeshift stretcher, and Moose carrying a dead mountain lion across his back with me bringing up the rear. The tension and anxiety in the camp is quickly broken.

Fowler moves slightly in front of the main crowd. He demands one of us give the Chief Engineer an immediate report. Since I'm the only unencumbered member of our team, I step forward. Fowler at least allows Cato and I a moment to kiss and embrace, before he orders me to go to the white hut.

I haven't seen the Chief Engineer for a couple of days ... not that there's anything unusual in that. But he's changed since I last saw him. He now looks as though he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Something important has happened, and I sense it isn't for the good. However, I'm to be disappointed if I thought I might find out what is troubling him. Instead he has me make a report of our reconnaissance and has me show him the location of what we saw on his map. I silently curse Crixus for not making any written notes. I retrieved the handwritten map he carried when we placed him on the makeshift stretcher. I quickly realised that the map is inaccurate in several places, and Crixus should have noted the discrepancies on the map at that the time. Perhaps the Chief Engineer or Fowler can get more information from Crixus tomorrow.

"Yet again you have carried out what was asked of you despite being in an unexpectedly dangerous situation. I shall make a note your good work on your file. I can't promise anything, but it's possible you might have earned a reduction in your prison sentence. Now go join your husband before he tears the camp apart again."


	24. Dangerous ground

24\. Dangerous ground  


I find Cato is waiting for me inside our hut. He wraps me in his arms as soon as I drop my gear. His attentions are wonderful, and to my surprise he has prepared a meal for me. It's nothing fancy, but he must have guessed that I'd arrive hungry. He tries to be nonchalant about my late arrival, but I can tell he was more than a little worried that I might not return at all. He admits that he went berserk when he learned that my team had been sent off into uncharted wilderness. Not that he didn't think me capable of surviving in the wilderness, but because I was the only woman among four older men of dubious character.

I calm his concerns and relate the whole story of our journey. At some point he decides I'm really unharmed and he turns his attentions to our usual night time activity. I'm still on a high from killing the mountain lion. It must rank as one of the most dangerous animals I've hunted, and I'm secretly pleased my nerve held at the critical moment. Had my shot missed, or had it only wounded the lion, then Crixus would be dead. Cato's attentions start to switch my sensations to a completely different high.

"What would you have done tonight if I hadn't turned up?" I tease when Cato and I are practically at fever pitch in our lovemaking.

"Hmmm ... Sorsha seemed willing enough to console my grief," he replies. "She's in my new team, by the way."

"Not funny," I say, giving him a playful thump. "I've seen the way she watches you. I'm sure she'd be delighted to warm your bed for you. But remember who's just killed a mountain lion with a single shot."

"I'm impressed, but are you really that jealous of Sorsha? Do you see her as a rival?" asks Cato, going serious for a moment.

"Sort of," I reply. "I love you and want to be with you. But I know I don't really have any claim on you despite what our official records state. So, yes, I feel jealous if another woman vies for your affection. To that extent I see Sorsha as a rival. But I'm not so insecure that I watch your every move each time you're with another woman."

"That's the first time you've said you love me," says Cato.

"Is it?" I reply, realising that he's probably right. I've thought it many times, but I don't remember ever saying it aloud. The words came out of my mouth without thinking and I'm not sure I've done the right thing.

"Yes, it is. I hadn't realised that you felt so deeply towards me. Not so long ago we were rivals in the Hunger Games arena; ready to kill each other. Any form of romantic relationship would have been a fantasy."

"So you think me so shallow that I'd have sex with any half-way decent looking guy that crossed my path?"

Cato belatedly realises that he's treading on dangerous ground here, and he thinks carefully before saying anything else.

"All I'm saying is that we have both been thrown together by circumstances and, like it or not, we must rely on each other to survive. It's not as though we have come together by choice. We know very little about each other. I can't sort out my own feelings about it all, let alone understand yours. You say you love me ... do you really mean it? Or is it infatuation or gratitude because we've had to face so much together?"

Unfortunately Cato has made me doubt my own feelings. He's right about our circumstances. There's the added complication to the mix which I still haven't told him. Telling him about my pregnancy now would only make my declaration of love seem more like an act of desperation, or, at best, simple wishful thinking.

"Our current situation means we are both safer if we live together," I say. "I agree that we don't know each other as well as we perhaps should if we intend to live together in the future. We haven't had to make that choice yet, but one day we must. All I can say is that based on our experiences together since I met you, then I'm in favour of us staying together. But that needs to be a choice we both make. What I feel for you is possibly love, but I've nothing to measure my feelings against. You mean more to me than anybody else I know outside of my immediate family. If you feel that we must learn more about each other before you can decide, then you'll find me more than willing to overcome that hurdle."

"Okay," replies Cato. "Now come here. I didn't mean to come on so heavy to you just now. It's just that I didn't feel comfortable with my feelings today when I thought I might have lost you."

"Perhaps we should ask to be put on the same team again," I say.

"I've already tried that, but Fowler refused point blank. I think he doesn't trust us not to try and escape. Keeping us apart solves his problem. He's done the same with the other married couples."

We embrace and resume our lovemaking in a much more gentle way than usual. For some reason we both seem to feel that we've crossed a watershed in our relationship, and that we need to reassure each other that everything is okay. We fall asleep wrapped in each others arms.

Cato wakes me early. Before I'm fully awake he rolls me onto my back and pushes my legs apart. His enormous erection makes his intentions obvious. He's taken me by surprise and my feelings are confused. Before I can say or do anything, he's entered me. It's the closest he has ever come to forcing his attentions upon me. If I didn't feel so strongly towards him I'd probably be screaming for him to stop. Instead I ease myself into a more comfortable position and let him slake his lust on my yielding body.

He spends his seed in less than a minute. He was clearly pent up with lust, as his spending lasts much longer than usual. I can't say I enjoyed the experience since I didn't feel any form of arousal. It wasn't painful or unpleasant, but neither was it satisfying like our normal lovemaking. Cato used me like an object whose sole purpose is to gratify his desire.

Normally Cato takes a short rest at this point, but this morning he resumes his assault on my body almost immediately. This time he's not so forceful and my body even experiences the slight hint of arousal. Not enough to grant me release though and I'm still not happy about his invasion of my body.

"Hey!" I say, when he finally removes his now limp shaft from my body. "What do you think you were doing? I'm not some mindless object for you to use like that."

I manage to keep my annoyance out of my voice. In reality I'm more curious than angry about his actions. He doesn't answer me immediately. Instead he cleans himself up and then proceeds to clean me. I resist the temptation to snatch the cloth from his hand, and I allow him to clean my wet and sticky thighs.

"Last night you said that we needed to learn more about each other," says Cato. "You said you wanted to know me better. Now you have an inkling of what sort of person I've been trained to be. If we are ever to live together, you must understand that at times I will be the uncaring beast who has just raped you. If I'm upset and angry, I can't promise that I won't do that to you again."

"You didn't rape me, Cato," I reply. "I'm not some weak-kneed mouse of a girl who can't defend herself. If I had really minded what you just did, then I'd have slit your throat while you were preoccupied in satisfying the beast inside you."

For effect I show Cato my knife which I keep by the side of the bed. He knew it was there, so I can only think that he believes I would never use it on him. He's probably right, but it doesn't do any harm for him to be uncertain.

"I can guess what it is to be a Career," I continue. "I've heard about the training you go through. I've seen enough Career savagery in previous Hunger Games to know what you are capable of doing. In the future we may be able to overcome the worst aspects of your training. In the meantime I'm willing to make allowances. Anyway, what was making you upset and angry when you woke up?"

"I was thinking about yesterday's events," replies Cato, trying, but failing, to hide his surprise at my lack of anger. "Not just us being split up like that ... I guess they could have done that when we arrived here. It's the rumours that have started circulating."

"Rumours?" I ask. "I must have been away from Sunny Glen for too long. I've not heard any rumours."

"At first I thought there was no substance to the rumours. That's why I didn't bother telling you. But this morning, when Fowler announced that a large number of workers will be joining us soon, the rumours became more believable. Both Fowler and the Chief Engineer have been worried about something ... you'd be blind not to notice."

"I noticed the Chief Engineer looked as though the sky was about to fall in, but you haven't told me about the rumours."

"Nothing concrete, but some of the newly arrived prisoners are talking about government crackdowns in the districts. Curfews and arrests. Public whippings and other forms of punishment for even the slightest infringement of the law. There are even more free citizens wanting to join the work camps to escape the new tyranny. No district has escaped from the crackdown. Even District Two, which is normally given preferential treatment, has suffered. I worry about my parents, brother and sisters. They are all active in pushing for better rights for the people of the districts. They will have been a prime target in any crackdown."

"You are right to be concerned about your family," I reply. "But that doesn't explain why the Chief Engineer is so worried. More workers will mean quicker progress with our work. We might still succeed in reaching the old city before winter sets in."

"I think he and Fowler are concerned that the peacekeepers will take control of Sunny Glen. Until now the government hasn't taken a direct interest in the running of the work camps. That may be about to change."

"Which places at risk whatever plans our hidden benefactor has made for our future," I add. "Our real identities could be in danger of discovery. And the involvement of the Chief Engineer in the subterfuge could be revealed."

"I agree. So you understand why I was upset and angry."

"I understand your mood, but we need to work on your anger management before you lash out at the wrong person."

"I don't deserve someone like you," sighs Cato.

"No you don't, but I guess that I'm in a tolerant mood. Just don't try to test it too often."

I lean towards Cato and give him a kiss. He's unusually timid in his response so I pull him closer.

"I'll not break if you touch me," I say, guiding his hands to where they would normally roam when we kiss in private. He's still a little uncertain about the reaction he may get if he pushes too far, so I remind him that he owes me a decent orgasm after what he did earlier. He complies and by the time I feel satisfied, our relationship is more or less back to normal. Neither of us will forget what happened earlier, but we've at least made it clear to each other that we're prepared to move on with our relationship, and not dwell on the event. We doze for a while before getting dressed and reporting for work.

I kiss Cato farewell as he goes to join his team. I join mine, which is one member less now that Crixus is out of action. I ask the others if they have any news about Crixus, but none of them know what has happened to him. Pontius and Wulfram left him at what passes for our hospital tent, but the prisoner everyone calls 'doc' wouldn't let them stay. 'Doc' is only an honorary title ... I doubt he's had any medical training beyond handing out an aspirin for a headache. He probably only volunteered for the job in order to get out of other duties. Nobody enters the hospital tent willingly, and alarmingly few patients leave it alive.

Fowler hands out our instruction sheets as usual. Pontius is our leader today. He seems more willing to share the instructions than Crixus did yesterday. We're back to clearing the trackbed so the specialist teams can lay new rail. Several other teams are given the same task and the team leaders must work out a plan to avoid the teams tripping over each others feet. The route we are clearing is the one we followed yesterday, and not the one with the landslip cutting across it. Nobody seems to be working on that route. On the strength of my report, the Chief Engineer must have decided to rebuilt the older route in preference to the one running above the drained lake. I suddenly worry in case my report was inaccurate.

"Prisoner Deane! Stop daydreaming and get to work," snaps Pontius.

"Thought I saw a mountain lion," I reply. It's a lie, but it shuts the pompous man up.


	25. Slave labour

25\. Slave labour

Some teams have been sent off in the direction of the road the survey team followed. I presume their task is to clear the road of debris and make what repairs are necessary. Perhaps the Chief Engineer is expecting a large enough workforce to try opening both the road and rail routes. Or perhaps it means he still doesn't know the condition of the road and rail bridges across the wide river that will be the final link in the supply route to the old city.

"I still can't understand why they don't ferry everything to the city by air," mutters Moose as we work.

"Politics and money," replies Wulfram. "The government can't spare the military transporters for a regular long haul supply drop, and the cost of hiring private airfreight operators would be prohibitive. In the long run, it's cheaper to have slave labour clear an overland route. Besides, all the lumber and minerals in this area will need transporting back to Panem."

"We're not slave labour," I retort, taking exception to the term.

"In all but name. Even the greybacks only get paid a pittance," replies Wulfram, using the common term for the grey uniformed free citizens who now represent about a quarter of our number in Sunny Glen.

We make good progress in clearing the route despite our limited numbers. We return to Sunny Glen and I wait patiently for Cato to return. His team was assigned to working on the road. I don't need to wait for long and we share a meal with the others before retiring to our hut. The days are getting shorter and the temperature is dropping as winter gets closer. I light our stove to provide some warmth. The terrain here is similar to that of District Twelve, and back at home I'd be anticipating the first winter snow in less than a month. I hope the Chief Engineer plans to get us to lower ground before then, or provide us with warmer clothing. Jed's store stocks only a few items of winter clothing, all of it priced beyond most prisoners' means.

As it turns out, the Chief Engineer has plans for Cato and I to leave here much sooner. Tonight in fact.

"Pack you things and be ready to leave in ten minutes," says the Chief Engineer to Cato when he answers the knock on our hut door. "Both of you. You won't be returning."

We could waste time by asking what is going on, but the Chief Engineer doesn't linger at our door. We've enough sense to know his order means that danger is approaching. What that danger is, exactly, is something we'll worry about later.

The Chief Engineer returns a few minutes later with his own belongings packed in a rucksack. Cato and I have so few things that they all fit into the rucksack I've kept since returning from the survey mission with Dominus. I grab my bow, and fasten the quiver of arrows across my back.

"Let's go," says the Chief Engineer. "I've told Fowler and Maggie that the three of us are on a survey mission to assess the river bridges into the old city."

"Won't they be suspicious that we are leaving at this time of night?" asks Cato.

"Possibly. I said we needed to arrive at the bridges in daylight, and we could only do that by leaving tonight. It's a risk we'll have to take. I've been told that the supply train due to arrive tomorrow morning will be carrying twenty new prisoners ... and six peacekeepers. I think the peacekeepers are just the vanguard of a much larger force. I don't know what's going on, but the standing instructions I was given when I agreed to hide you at Sunny Glen were to get the three of us out of here if peacekeepers turned up. So we're going."

We follow the Chief Engineer, who leads us along the railroad route my team had begun clearing.

"Wouldn't we make better progress on the road," asks Cato as soon as we reach the end of the cleared stretch. In the dark, what lies ahead of us seems impenetrable.

"The route by road is nearly twice as long as this old railroad," replies the Chief Engineer. "We are nearer to the old city here than where Katniss reached with the survey party."

It seems strange to hear someone say my real name again. Even Cato has been careful enough to call me Katie or Kat.

"You had better let me take the lead," I suggest to the Chief Engineer. "It'll be easy to lose the trail in the dark, and there may be predators out hunting at this time of night."

I'm taking a risk in giving orders to the Chief Engineer. If I did this back in camp I'd likely earn a public flogging. But he silently acknowledges that I'm the more experienced person in this situation. We carry on our way, although at a much slower pace than before.

I don't think I'll ever be able to teach Cato how to move stealthily. At least his crashing about will probably scare off all but the most determined predator. It's possible this area was the exclusive territory of the mountain lion I killed the other day. If we're lucky another predator hasn't yet taken the opportunity to fill the void left by the lion's death. But I'm not going to take any chances.

Around midnight we reach the clearing that was once the old lake. It's virtually impossible to see the route of the railroad in the dark, but fortunately we don't need to at the moment. We only need to head down the valley towards the broken dam. We can resume following the railroad route from there. I guide the three of us around the remnants of the lake and by three o'clock we've scrambled over the rubble and are on the other side of the old dam. Now we are entering territory I've not travelled before. Following the railroad route would make the most sense, although the alternative is to keep to the small river formed by lake water leaking through the rubble. In practise the railroad keeps close to the river in any case.

We're all getting tired by now and the Chief Engineer calls for a rest a short while later. I think he meant for us to resume our journey after half an hour, but we all fall asleep and don't wake until a hint of dawn lights the sky. Sleeping without someone on watch was a dangerous thing to do, but fortunately no harm came of it. We eat the few berries which I had stored in our hut and remembered to throw into my pack at the last minute. It's the only food we are carrying, so I'll need to hunt for our next meal.

"We had best get going," says the Chief Engineer. "The peacekeepers should be arriving at Sunny Glen in a few hours and they may decide to call for an air hopper to retrieve us."

From what I know of the peacekeepers' methods, their air hoppers carry heat seeking technology which can identify human beings from above. We will be sitting ducks if we're caught in this valley. It would have made more sense for us to head off in a different direction to the one the Chief Engineer told Fowler, but we aren't carrying enough equipment to survive in the wilderness for very long.

"How long before they can get a hopper here?" asks Cato, echoing my concern.

"If there's a nationwide crackdown, then it could take them days. The peacekeepers don't have an inexhaustible supply of hoppers, particularly for places as remote as the outer regions of District Seven. Unfortunately, I don't know the reason for the crackdown, so I don't know what priority will be given to hunting us down."

"How did you know the peacekeepers are coming?" I ask.

"Carrier pigeon from my contact at the rail depot," replies the Chief Engineer. "It's the only means of getting messages in and out of Sunny Glen apart from the official mail delivered by the supply train."

We continue on our journey. I manage to stop the habit of looking up at the sky for air hoppers. It would be a pointless exercise in any case. The air hoppers have stealth devices which make them all but invisible until they are on top of you.

The going is relatively easy. After a few kilometres we see the newer railroad route joining our route from the right. The remains of the track has almost rusted away. Removing it will probably slow the rebuilding process, but it's the same problem the track layers have faced before. We press on with our journey.

The sun has risen over the hills by the time we come to what must have been a junction. Suddenly the track towards the old city appears to be in much better condition. It could even have been used recently, although the broken rail joints and uneven alignment suggest a train would have to travel extremely slowly. To our right, the better track curves away from the route we have been following before disappearing off to the east.

"The sawmill must be to the east of us," says the Chief Engineer. "This must be the route used to move the lumber from the sawmill you heard those men talk about."

I can't fault the Chief Engineer's logic, although I've no desire to bump into those men again. Fortunately we don't intend to go in that direction. Our goal lies north-west of where we are.

"They have horses," I say pointing to the horse manure in the middle of the track.

"Makes sense," says the Chief Engineer. "This track isn't in a fit state for a locomotive to use. Horse drawn wagons are probably all that can navigate this railroad."

We don't linger and make quick progress in the direction of the old city. It's probably too early in the morning to encounter any wagons heading to or from the city. Nevertheless we keep a good lookout. I for one would prefer that we see any strangers long before they see us.

By mid morning we are approaching our goal. Either side of us are traces of ruined buildings, and we can practically smell the river ahead of us. The railroad branches near to the river. A disused line curves to our left and starts to rise towards a bridge over the river. Unfortunately the bridge has partially collapsed and I can see that several sections have fallen into the river. The track which the sawmill uses branches off and halts at a wooden pier built out into the river. There's no sign of anybody about but there's clear evidence that the pier is used from time to time. There a hut and a coral for horses ... both empty at the moment. A side track holds a couple of empty wagons, presumably waiting for a return trip to the sawmill.

Cato examines the area near the pier, while I join the Chief Engineer who is studying the bridge and the ruins on the other bank, which must be the old city.

"I don't understand why we can't see any evidence of the settlement the government established over there," says the Chief Engineer when he sees me studying the far bank of the river. "The last air drop was only a few weeks ago, and there were no reports of any problems."

"Perhaps the settlement is hidden by the trees," I offer in reply as I study the view from up river to down river.

"The workers at the sawmill must know about the settlement. We'll go and ask them about trying to cross the river. There doesn't seem to be any intact bridges, so we'll need to see what they have by way of a boat. It's too far to swim to the other bank."

I don't want to go to the sawmill, but there doesn't seem to be any alternative. Waiting here until someone turns up would give the peacekeepers time to catch us.

"Did you know that all the bridges were damaged?" asks Cato of the Chief Engineer as we retrace our steps along the track.

"The aerial survey reports were ambiguous about the bridges, and I couldn't get anyone to do a second survey. Dominus and the survey party were supposed to reach the bridges and report back, but I hadn't heard from them before we left Sunny Glen last night."

It seems strange that the three of us have reached this place in a little over twelve hours, whereas it would have taken Dominus and his party at least four days by the other route. It's probably not a fair comparison, since we were rushing, while the survey party was doing what it was instructed to do, and document every obstacle they encountered.

Just before we reach the junction we see a group of men looking after a train of six horse drawn wagons. They carry firearms as though they are expecting trouble. The Chief Engineer throws caution to the wind and walks towards them. Cato signals for me stand behind him and that I should keep at a distance. I notch an arrow to my bow, but realistically a bow and arrow is seriously outmatched by the weapons these men are carrying. Our appearance clearly classes as trouble, since the men all point their weapons at us.

"Lay down your weapons," orders one of the men. The Chief Engineer indicates we should comply, and reluctantly I do as I'm told.

"I'm the Chief Engineer of Sunny Glen. I wish to speak with whoever is in charge."

Some of the men confer while a couple of them disarm us. While I can understand their caution, I think their reaction is unnecessarily hostile. I'm not certain we've done the right thing in approaching them.


	26. Shackled

26\. Shackled

Two of the armed men escort the Chief Engineer, Cato and I back along the track towards the sawmill. The other men resume their journey with the wagons to the river.

"That wasn't lumber in those wagons," I comment to Cato as we walk.

"No. Some sort or ore," replies Cato.

"Probably copper or nickel," says the Chief Engineer, joining our conversation. "I didn't get a close enough look to be sure. There's plenty of both in these hills. It's the main reason the government wants the railroad reopening. You must have misheard the men you saw the other day. Perhaps they said mine and not mill."

I don't think I mistook what I heard, but the evidence we've just seen suggests otherwise. Anyway, we'll find out soon enough. I look around at our escort, both of whom are following behind us. I've an uneasy feeling about our situation, but not enough concern to risk trying an escape.

"I thought the railroad was being built to supply the settlement in the old city," says Cato.

"Yes, but the settlement is nothing more than a temporary colony to survey these hills ready for mining," replies the Chief Engineer.

"It looks like someone has already begun doing that," I say.

It's nearly midday when we reach our destination. It's a narrow clearing on the side of a hill, with several wooden buildings nestled between the trees on the downhill side. There **is** a sawmill, but it's quite small. It's sole purpose seems to be the manufacture of wooden props for the mine at the other end of the clearing. The spoil from the mine is tipped into the valley below.

The coral of a dozen horses, and a like number of wagons suggests this is a surprisingly large operation for such a remote place. There are more armed men overseeing small groups of workers. My earlier concerns rise to alarm when I realise the workers are shackled together in small groups. A couple of the armed men walk over to join us.

"Where's the man in charge?" asks the Chief Engineer.

"The boss will see you shortly," replies one of the newly arrived men. "Your two prisoners can wait in the holding pen."

Despite the Chief Engineer's mild protests, Cato and I are taken along a muddy path into the trees beyond the mine entrance. There we come face to face with a large metal cage; large enough to hold thirty or forty people, although it is empty at the moment. One of our escort unlocks the grill door and we are thrust inside. The door is locked behind us and the men walk away.

"The first chance we get we'll make a run for it," says Cato, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Who are these people?" I ask.

"I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to find out."

The floor of the cage has been trampled into packed earth, indicating it has recently been used by a large number of people. A trough of water is located next to the door. The trough is on the outside of the cage, but it's possible to reach through the bars and scoop a handful of water.

We are made to wait for several hours and we catch up on our sleep. By the time we wake we are beginning to feel quite hungry despite my intermittent queasiness. Although we can hear voices and activity through the trees, nobody comes near us. Finally a line of four manacled men and women are marched into our cage. The overseer escorting them doesn't linger and the four of them go to one side of the cage and sit down. They look so tired that they don't seem to see us. Suddenly I recognise one of the women ... it's Augusta, who was in the survey party lead by Dominus.

"Augusta! What are you doing here? What is this place?" I ask.

Augusta looks at me. A mixture of hope and despair runs across her face. I move over to where she's sitting since the chain linking her ankle to the ankles of the man and woman either side of her prevents her from moving far.

"Welcome to Lost Hope mine," sighs Augusta. "You've fallen into bad company. We're in the hands of bandits, for the want of a better description. Most of us here are captives taken from settlements that these bandits have raided. We're made to mine the ore and load the wagons. I don't know where they take it, but some say the bandits ship the ore down the river."

"But how did you end up here. Where's Dominus, Snook and Lepidus?"

"They're all gone. Dominus sent Lepidus out to hunt for food once we realised the road was washed away like you predicted. Lepidus never returned. Dominus went out looking for him, but he disappeared as well. Snook and I were almost out of food, so we turned back to Sunny Glen. We were ambushed by these bandits along the road. Snook tried to make a run for it, but got a bullet in his back for his troubles. They left him in some ditch by the side of the road. I was brought here."

"So you never made it as far as the settlement in the old city?" I say.

"No. But it didn't matter. The survivors from the settlement are all here working in the mine. Griff, next to me here, is from the settlement. He said the bandits overran the settlement nearly eighteen months ago. Somehow they managed to keep up the pretence that the settlement is still active so that the government continues to drop supplies twice a month. Only it's the bandits who are getting it all."

"What about your husband? Is he here?"

"I've not seen him. According to Griff the bandits usually kill all the leaders when they capture a settlement. But nobody saw Saul or the other leaders die, so there's a chance he's still alive somewhere."

"Well these bandits can't continue running this place for much longer," says Cato. "In another few weeks the railroad will reach near here. The guards and peacekeepers at Sunny Glen will put an end to this operation."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It won't matter to us. These bandits aren't going to let any of us live to tell the tale."

We need to do something, but for the moment we are helpless. I begin to wonder what fate has befallen the Chief Engineer. Has he been killed, or is he being held as a hostage for negotiations between the bandits and the peacekeepers. A short while later more captives return from the mine. They are all shackled in coffles of three, four or five, and all look totally exhausted. I count thirty two captives in all, including Augusta's group of four. The overseers leave buckets of what must be food, but few prisoners have the energy to make a move to eat it. Since I'm getting quite hungry, I go over to one of the buckets. The smell and look of the slop makes me decide to stay hungry for now.

Despite the revolting slop, most of the prisoners eventually summon the energy to eat it. It's not a very hygienic way of eating, with everyone dipping their grubby hands into the nearest bucket and eating it dirt and all. As if by unspoken agreement, each coffle goes to the water trough in turn and takes a drink. Similarly, the downhill side of the cage is the communal latrine. Nobody lingers there any longer than necessary.

Most of the captives soon fall asleep. There's nothing to do, and most of them look listless and broken. The only thing keeping up my spirits is the fact that neither Cato nor I have been chained to a coffle. Does this mean we might still avoid the fate of the others, or is it a simple oversight by the bandits? Unfortunately my optimism is short lived and a guard comes to shackle Cato and I to a group of three. The man and two women briefly give us dejected looks before resuming their rest.

Inside the cage, only Cato and I are still awake by the time it goes dark. We've been observing the patrol pattern of the guards. Every ten minutes, like clockwork, a single guard will patrol along one side of the cage. He only makes a cursory check on the door and a quick scan of the captives inside the cage. The bandits are obviously confident of the helplessness of their captives, or they would make a more thorough check of the cage. If we can break free of our shackles, we could tunnel out of here in less than an hour.

We are woken not long after dawn. After giving us a few minutes to prepare ourselves, the overseers march us out of the cage, one coffle at a time. Our group is one of the last to leave. We shuffle along the path towards the mine. At the entrance to the mine we are given a chunk of bread and a water flask. Neither is in good condition. We follow the woman at the front of our line into the mine. She seems to know where to go by instinct. I dread to think how many times she's had to do this trek.

We've gone about a hundred metres into the mine tunnel when a siren and loud shouting from outside the mine causes us to stop.

"Aircraft!" cries Cato suddenly when we hear a high pitched whining noise.

"Several of them," adds Cato a few seconds later.

The sound of explosions and the rat-tat-tat of small arms firm can be heard outside the mine. Initially there's panic among the captives, even though we're well underground. Our biggest immediate danger is if the roof collapses near the entrance and traps us all. Shouts and more gunfire can be heard as smoke drifts down from the mine entrance. The mine and the surrounding buildings are obviously under attack.

Two armed men come running down the mine towards us. At first we think they intend to free us, but it soon becomes clear they have a more deadly mission to fulfil. They take out their weapons and prepare to gun us all down.

They would have succeeded had a stray bomb from one of the assaulting aircraft not exploded near to the mine entrance and send a shock wave down the tunnel. The bomb wasn't near enough to cause any injuries, but it served to distract the men long enough for the captives nearby to react. Most groups are too confused to do anything coordinated. They trip and fall over each other as the individual members of the coffle try to run in different directions. Cato and I drag our reluctant group towards the armed men. Surprisingly the other three in our coffle don't resist. Perhaps they are so used to taking orders, that they simply obey without thinking. Cato succeeds in barging a path through the confusion.

The bandits regain their senses before we can reach them. They turn their weapons towards the group nearest to them. That unfortunate group is struggling to make any progress, with most of their coffle crouching on the ground fearing the roof is about to fall. Weapons fire briefly before Cato and I launch ourselves into the bandits. The men weren't expecting to be attacked, so we take them by surprise. Cato is trained as a killer, and he silences his target in seconds. I manage to keep my target occupied until Cato can turn his attentions to the second bandit. The three others in our coffle stand horrified at the bloodshed, but at least they don't actively hinder our assault. It's all over less than a minute. I quickly search the bandits for a key which will unlock our shackles. Fortunately Cato and I had noticed that each of them carries a key. I unfasten Cato and my chains and hand the key to the woman next to me. We run through the smoke towards the mine entrance.

The bombing seems to have stopped and the craft are trying to land. The surviving bandits are busy trying to rally a defence of their position. They ignore us completely as Cato and I scramble through the rocks above the mine entrance and into the trees. We can't go far. The hillside is impassible beyond a few metres in this direction. Our best option is to hide and watch, and that's what we do.

The battle rages for less than ten minutes. The craft are carrying peacekeepers, who quickly overwhelm the bandits. Before long some semblance of order has resumed. The captives are escorted out of the mine and are unshackled. Food and drink appear from somewhere, and the long process of collecting names and settlements begins. Cato and I remain hidden. Surrendering ourselves to the peacekeepers is not an option for us.

Our caution proves justified when a smaller aircraft flies in and disgorges four more peacekeepers. They are promptly shown to one of the huts, which seems to have escaped any heavy damage. The new peacekeepers leave the hut escorting a man I immediately recognise as the Chief Engineer.

"You've completed the first part of your bargain," says one of the peacekeepers to the Chief Engineer. "Now produce the two rebels you claim were hiding at Sunny Glen. Then you can go free."

"They are with the captives," replies the Chief Engineer pointing to the hapless group of freed men and women.

"Point them out to us," says the peacekeeper.

Suddenly several things fall into place in my mind. This whole expedition was a set up. The Chief Engineer has switched allegiance and is betraying his former allies to the peacekeepers. He's stitched up some deal to get himself out of trouble. He must have been in league with the bandits. That's why he was more than interested in my encounter with the four men on my way back to Sunny Glen. And as a bonus, he's handing Cato and I over to the peacekeepers. I don't need Cato's hand signal to tell me that we need to get away before they start searching for us.


	27. Free as a bird

27\. Free as a bird.

Our immediate problem is our bright orange uniforms. We've no chance of sneaking away wearing something so easily seen. I discard my shirt and trousers and hide them under some rocks. It means travelling these hills wearing nothing but underwear and boots, but the consequences of being caught make the discomfort worthwhile. Cato follows my example.

So far Cato and I haven't been missed. Even when the Chief Engineer discovers that we aren't with the former captives, he will probably assume that we are still inside the mine. Not all the captives came out of the mine. I hope it means the others fled further into the mine and are hiding. The alternative means the bandits gunned down more of the captives than I initially thought. Either way, it'll take the Chief Engineer and peacekeepers a few minutes to realise we are missing.

Making our escape isn't going to be easy. There are cliffs to the south and west of us which we can't climb without being seen. To the north is a band of trees sandwich between the cliff and the railroad track. Our best option is to head east, but that means crossing through the camp and into an area currently patrolled by peacekeepers searching for any remaining bandits.

We make our move when we see the peacekeepers with the Chief Engineer go into the mine to look for us. Crossing the camp and into the forest beyond is too risky, so Cato and I work our way through the trees to the north in order to put some distance between us and the mine. Once we are far enough away, we can swing east and make our way into the dense forest. After that? I've no idea.

Our plan might have worked were in not for the arrival of yet another peacekeeper craft. It's cloaking device means we don't see it until it's practically on top of us and we're well within range of its heat seeking scanners. We're trapped. Rather than risk being shot, Cato and I surrender.

As we walk towards the clearing I can't help thinking that for such a remote place there's an unbelievable amount of peacekeeper resources being applied to this mission. I can't understand why attacking a bandit camp, which must have been operating for years, suddenly ranks as a high priority mission; particularly when peacekeeper resources must already be stretched to the limit.

The newly arrived craft lands, and its crew of three take Cato and I into custody. One has the insignia of a peacekeeper colonel on his uniform. The five of us walk towards the mine, where the Chief Engineer and his accompanying peacekeepers have reappeared. They are escorting a dozen more captives whom they must have found sheltering in the mine. The Chief Engineer seems relieved when he sees us. The freed captives are unshackled and placed with the others. It seems Cato and I are the only ones now being held in restraints.

"Good morning, Captain," says the colonel to the men with the Chief Engineer. "A good morning's work. Well done. I'll take care of the three prisoners from here. President Snow wishes to interview them in person before deciding their fate."

"Um ... headquarters instructed me differently, Sir," replies the captain. "The boy and girl with you are to be taken to headquarters. The engineer was to be allowed to go free."

"Orders have changed, Captain," replies the colonel.

"Um ... but, Sir?" stammers the captain.

"Do you wish to explain to President Snow why you won't obey his orders, Captain?" snaps the colonel.

"Er ... No, Sir. Of course not, Sir."

"Good. Then I won't detain you any longer. We've a long way to travel and I'm sure President Snow is anxious to put down the unrest as soon a possible. Arresting and publicly executing these traitors will undoubtedly undermine those behind the current troubles."

Despite the Chief Engineer's protests, the captain complies with the colonel's orders. The colonel's craft is only just big enough for the six of us. The colonel sits next to the pilot, while the third peacekeeper and the Chief Engineer sit in the seats behind them. Cato and I are made to sit in the rear pair of seats with our wrists handcuffed together and to the seat frames. We've no chance of effecting an escape.

The craft takes off as soon as we are ready. I can't see anything apart from sky through the window next to me. I look at Cato and can see anger and frustration in his face. I feel the same. Anger that we've been betrayed and frustration that we were so close to escaping.

"Where are you taking me?" asks the Chief Engineer of the colonel.

"Our base," replies the colonel.

"I was promised freedom and immunity from prosecution if I collaborated," says the Chief Engineer.

"Yes, I know," replies the colonel. "You've delivered your bandit friends as promised. But you didn't do so well on the second part of the deal."

"What! I lured Katniss and Cato away from Sunny Glen as I was instructed. It's not my fault they nearly escaped your trap."

"It was your trap they nearly escaped. They didn't escape from me. Their presence here proves my point."

"So what is it you want from me?" complains the Chief Engineer.

"You haven't betrayed the person who organised the escapes from the Hunger Games arena. The one who arranged to hide these two at Sunny Glen with your cooperation."

"I don't know the identity of the person who did that. I'd gladly tell you who it is. But I simply don't know. You must believe me."

"I do. But will President Snow? You know how he hates people who betray the trust placed in them. You were commissioned to build a railroad so that a vast area of wilderness could be opened up for mining. Minerals the country desperately needs. Valuable minerals. You received generous funding and support, but instead your greed got the better of you, and you betrayed everyone concerned. It isn't a good way to win friends in high places."

"But everyone is on the take. I'm not the only one. The whole government is corrupt."

"Yes, I know. But the sensible ones know when to keep their grubby hands out of the cookie jar; and when to keep their mouths shut."

"So what is it that you want?" pleads the Chief Engineer.

"From you, nothing. You've already said that you can't identify the man President Snow is most anxious to meet. So it looks like you've outlived your usefulness."

"Listen. Perhaps I do know something. But I want your promise that I can go free if I tell you."

"I don't think you're in a position to make such demands. But I'll humour you. Okay, tell me what you know and I promise that you'll be as free as a bird in no time at all."

"He's a gamemaker. A Hunger Games' gamemaker. I don't know which one, but surely you can find out by questioning them all."

"Hah! Who would have believed that! A gamemaker. Of course. So obvious when you think about it. Who else could have that level of access to the tributes. And yet each gamemaker's loyalty has been rigorously examined. We must interrogate them all at length. Thank you. You are free to go. Stop over there, pilot."

"Yes. Thank you," burbles the Chief Engineer.

The craft stops and the door beside the Chief Engineer opens. It's windy and I briefly turn my head away from the door as air blasts my hair into my face."

"But we're hundreds of metres in the air," cries the Chief Engineer. "Aggghhhh!"

I look on in shock as the peacekeeper sat next to the Chief Engineer pushes him out of the door. The door closes and we resume our journey.

"I hate traitors," says the colonel to nobody in particular. "Well, I promised he could go as free as a bird if he talked. It's not my fault he can't fly like a bird."

This doesn't bode well for us. Cato and I sit in stunned silence for the rest of the two hour journey. Finally the aircraft descends into a concrete hanger of some sort. We might be underground for all I know. There's no daylight visible. The colonel and the two peacekeepers get out of the craft, leaving Cato and I handcuffed where we sit. Then two different men wearing overalls unlock us from the seat frames and pull us out of the craft. They aren't too gentle, particularly when Cato starts to resist.

"Stop that," orders a woman in a grey uniform. I'm not certain if she's referring to Cato or the men manhandling him. "Take our guests to the reception area. And find them some clothes. They can't see the commander dressed like that. No ... wait ... better still have them washed and tidied up first. I'll let the commander know about the delay."

Cato and I are escorted into a large room which reminds me of the Remake Centre in the Hunger Games Training Centre. A team of four greet Cato and I and guide us to the large bath at the far end of the room. To my surprise they produce some device which enables them to remove the bracelets Cato and I have been wearing since we were plucked from the Hunger Games arena.

"No need for these," says one of the women. "Carlton and Katie Deane, prisoners of Sunny Glen, are no more."

She's right, of course. Our cover has been blown. At least they are giving us the privilege of dying as Cato and Katniss.

"We'll give you forty minutes to soak in the bath and make yourself presentable. You'll be meeting some important people, so try to look your best."

Then Cato and I are left alone. I start to scrub weeks of ingrained grime from my skin. Cato looks reluctant to follow suit, so I begin scrubbing him as well. But his heart isn't in it. He's still angry and frustrated.

"You need to vent your anger on someone," I say as I do my best to ease the tension in his shoulders.

"There's nobody around," fumes Cato.

"There's me," I reply.

"You want me to vent my anger at you? You're joking, right? Last time that happened I raped you."

"I told you at the time that you didn't rape me. You were rough. You were consumed with your own self satisfaction. But I didn't fear you and I allowed you do what you did. I need you in a fit state to help me through whatever lies before us. If that means I must first let you prove your manly prowess on my body, then you'll not find me unwilling to satisfy your demands. So stop arguing and just do it. I want you to do it."

I guide Cato towards me and take a firm hold of his enormous erection. I don't look at it in case I quail at the prospect of it fitting inside me. But I remind myself that everything worked out fine last time. Cato resists for a few seconds, before giving in to his lust and gives me what I asked for. You might think at this point that I'm being a weak helpless girl submitting to her lord and master's demands. Think that if you want, but I know differently. If I'm to die in the next few days, then I'm not going to pass on the opportunity to have great sex with the man I love.

I don't count the minutes, but we've sated our lust several times by the time our minders return. They hand us some clothes. Standard issue overalls by the look of them. With the overalls comes a tag with our names clearly displayed. Our minders wear similar tags, although their overalls are white, while ours are a light brown.

"Come with us," says one of our minders. "The commander and her team are waiting for you."

We are taken to another room where several men and women are sat around a large table. At one end is a stern looking woman wearing a grey uniform. Next to her is the man I recognise as the peacekeeper colonel ... only he's changed out of his armour. We are made to stand at the foot of the table.

"They don't look like much," says the commander to the colonel. "I hope my first impressions are proved wrong. I don't like wasting time and money on unnecessary missions."

"President Snow is turning half the country upside down looking for them," replies the colonel. "He thinks their capture is worth abandoning the assault in District Five in order to send peacekeepers to the remote regions of District Seven. That alone has allowed hundreds of our supporters to escape certain death."

"Hmmm ... Well? What have you to say for yourselves?" asks the commander of us.

"We've no idea what is going on," I reply. "Where are we?"

"Ah! How remiss of me," laughs the colonel. "My apologies. Katniss. Cato. Welcome to District Thirteen. I'm Plutarch Heavensbee; former gamemaker and your secret benefactor who plucked you from the Hunger Games arena. Welcome to the rebellion."

[End of Part Two]


	28. Wild optimism

**Part Three: Rebel**

28\. Wild optimism.

When Plutarch Heavensbee welcomed Cato and I to the rebellion, he was being wildly optimistic in his description of the events occurring around Panem. So far he and the leaders of District Thirteen have had minimal success in their efforts to rouse the rumblings of discontent into a full scale rebellion. From what I've heard, only Districts Eight and Eleven are on the verge of an open revolt, while the recent unrest in District Five was ruthlessly quelled by the peacekeepers. As for the other districts, there is a lot of discontent, but it is disorganised and easily contained by the peacekeepers.

Not that any of this dampens the enthusiasm of Plutarch Heavensbee. He sees himself as the mastermind behind a plot to overthrow President Snow and his regime. I admire his goal, but I've yet to see how he can hope to pull it off. And if he does, how many people will be sacrificed on the journey. Cato is more willing to go along with Heavensbee's scheming. After all, reasons Cato, didn't he succeed in plucking Cato and I from the Hunger Games arena; and rescue us again when a traitor in Heavensbee's network tried to betray us. That's true, but I can't help feeling Cato and I are only protected while we are useful to Heavensbee's cause. We are still pawns in a game between powerful players.

While I'm simply wary of Plutarch Heavensbee's machinations, I completely distrust the leaders of District Thirteen. I met them shortly after Cato and I arrived in District Thirteen, and I took an instant dislike to them. They are single minded zealots who simply want to replace Snow's cruel regime with one of their own. Because I'm pregnant and unmarried, I'm labelled as a girl of "low moral standards" by the paramilitary administrators of District Thirteen. Well, perhaps not in so many words, although I've had the term thrown in my face at least twice. The result is the red patch on the arm of my overalls. It means I'm designated as a third class resident of this place.

Cato wears the blue patch of a first class resident, even though he is equally responsible for my current state. In fairness, he's not happy about our unequal treatment, but I don't see him refusing the better food or the more responsible job that goes with his status. Nor is he rejecting his comfortable room for a crowded dormitory like the one I must share with the other "red patch" residents. If this is the vision of a new Panem, then I can't see it attracting much support in the districts.

The medical examination I was subjected to on my first day in District Thirteen confirmed that I'm pregnant. No surprise there; I was fairly sure the queasiness I've been feeling was a mild form of morning sickness. At the time I feared that the news might cause Cato to simply disappear from my life altogether. He's never said that he loves me, although he's been more than a good friend. I miss him. Not just the sex we used to enjoy, but having someone to share my life. My relationship with Cato has never been what you could call 'normal'. It probably never will be.

Of course, I had to tell Cato he was about to be a father. I couldn't keep my pregnancy secret any longer after the medical examination sealed my lowly status in the eyes of District Thirteen's rulers. Cato's protests about my designation as a "red patch" were ignored, and we were separated. Now our different schedules mean Cato and I rarely see each other. My only moment of pleasure was when I realised my pregnancy disrupted Heavensbee's plans for me ... at least for a few hours until he came up with a new plan. I begrudgingly admit that he very adaptable.

Our arrival in District Thirteen triggered other changes affecting Cato and I. Gone is my false identity of Katie Deane. Despite the dangers, I'm back to being the real me, Katniss Everdeen. But with the demise of Katie Deane goes my fake marriage to Cato, alias Carlton Deane. He and I are no longer bound together by circumstances outside our control; in fact the exact opposite. I've no longer any claim on Cato's attentions, although he has seemed happy to see me on the rare occasions our paths have crossed during the four weeks we've been here. As for our request to share a room, it isn't just a case of our different social status keeping us apart. An unmarried couple living together is definitely not permitted here.

The only thing keeping me sane is the knowledge that any day now Cato and I will be out of here. We are only being kept here until the heat dies down on the peacekeepers search for us. The peacekeepers resources are stretched to the limit. Even President Snow's enraged demands that we be caught can't override reality forever. Not that we won't be wanted fugitives when we emerge from this underground complex. A simple random identity check by the peacekeepers could snare us. Heavensbee assures us we should be relatively safe, but it's Cato and I who are putting our necks out.

Like everyone in District Thirteen, my life is dictated by the portable scheduler strapped onto my wrist. This vile device tells me when and where I'm supposed to be. I hate the thing, if for no other reason than it seems I've swapped the metal identity bracelet I had to wear in Sunny Glen with another form of shackle.

I've become so used to Cato and I being on completely different schedules that I'm taken unawares when he and I find our next duty is in the same room. It's a small meeting room in some obscure corner of level six. I've no idea what normally happens on this level since "red patches" are usually confined to the lower levels of this huge underground complex. Cato and I make ourselves comfortable and wait for whoever has summoned us here.

"How are you feeling?" asks Cato.

"I'll be glad to get out of this place," I reply. "I even miss our life in Sunny Glen."

"Me too," replies Cato. "But how are you feeling? With the baby, I mean."

"Oh! Just the usual, I guess. The medic checks me out every couple of days and says everything is fine. I suppose it'll be different in a few months time when my belly is all swollen. I can manage, you know. You don't have to look after me."

"I'm sure you are more than capable of managing. But I'll not have the mother of my child left to fend for herself while I'm around to help."

"That's very noble of you, Cato. Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to share the burden of bringing our child into the world, medical science hasn't found a way of doing it. Don't worry, the medics are taking good care of me down in the bowels of this giant coffin."

Cato doesn't rise to the bait. In fact I'm not sure why I've snubbed his obvious concern. Perhaps it's because I can't look at the blue patch on his arm without thinking about how unjust a society District Thirteen promotes.

"So, are you allowed to have sex?" asks Cato.

"Huh?" I reply. "What? Here? Now?"

"Well I was thinking about once we are free from this place, but if you're that keen I'm happy to oblige."

"In front of the security cameras? That isn't like you, Cato. You used to prefer at least a degree of privacy."

"True, but it's been four weeks since we last made out. A boy can only take so much waiting, you know. So how about an answer to my question?"

Now I know he is teasing me. Or is he? I can't deny that I've missed our amorous encounters. A smile rises on my face. I recall the medic's reaction when I asked her the same question. Another nail in my reputation as a girl of low moral standards. But at least she answered my question.

"Find a place to your liking and you'll find me ready and willing," I reply, kissing him on his cheek. His hand darts forward to hold me in place. His hand runs gently over my belly, although it is far to early for him to be able to feel anything. Suddenly I want to hold him tight. His actions reassure me that he's not going to disappear at the first opportunity. I move closer so that we can embrace. He'd not find any resistance if he were to push me backwards onto the table and satisfy the lust that is mounting in both of us.

But the moment is stolen from us by the arrival of Plutarch Heavensbee and two men. One of the men wears an army uniform with enough gold braid on his shoulder to make me think that he's a general or something. The younger one wears the standard civilian overalls with a green patch on his arm. A second class resident. The first one I've met.

"Sit down, Katniss, Cato," says Plutarch Heavensbee, in a tone that's a mix between an order and a request. "These are Major Crowe and his aide. I pleased to see that you've settled in. Not everybody can adjust to living underground so easily."

"I don't know that you can call it settling in," I reply. "When can we get out of here?"

"Soon. You need to be patient a little longer."

"Last time you and I spoke you said you wanted Katniss and I to help with the rebellion," says Cato.

"Yes," replies Heavensbee. "And you agreed."

I look at Cato is surprise. He must have met with Heavensbee while I've been toiling in the workshops on level twenty three. I do my best to hide my annoyance at being excluded from those discussions.

"Katniss must decide for herself," says Cato, sensing my ire.

"No," replies Heavensbee. "You have agreed on behalf of both of you. You must understand that as the father of the child Katniss is carrying, you are responsible for all decisions for both of you. Those are the rules while you are here in District Thirteen."

"I'm pregnant, not retarded," I snap in reply. "As much as I respect Cato's willingness to look out for me, I'll still be making my own decisions. Besides, Cato and I will not be in District Thirteen much longer. You said so yourself."

"Yes, but while you are working for District Thirteen you must comply with their rules. They'll be the ones supplying anything you might need, and rescuing your butt if things go wrong. I can't make you comply once you are out there in the districts, but I strongly recommend that you do. If Major Crowe or his superiors consider you too much of a liability, then they'll leave you to fend for yourself."

"What you mean is that we mustn't rebel against the rebellion. Is this what life will be like in the new Panem?" I ask. "Assuming your rebellion succeeds."

"Some things will be different," replies Heavensbee. "But rules that work in the confines of this complex, won't necessarily work in the wide open spaces of Panem. Most of the leaders of District Thirteen know that and are willing to adapt. You just need to be patient, and not push against those trying to help you."

The major and his aide have silently been watching us as we argue. The younger man seems sympathetic to my argument, but the major looks as though he would prefer to line me up against a wall and shoot me.

"Everdeen is a loose cannon," says Major Crowe. "I don't know if she's going to be suitable. This will be a dangerous mission. I can't afford the luxury of a having a disobedient woman in my team."

I'm too appalled by the major's attitude to make an immediate response. Which is fortunate, since it allows Heavensbee to intercede before I launch into the vile man. To Plutarch Heavensbee's credit he manages to calm things down before anybody says or does something they may regret later. The meeting concludes after a few minutes, and it seems I'm still on the team. I'm not certain whether I should be glad or not. Cato is delighted, since our mission is to go to District Two and pluck his family to safety.

"I've arranged for you both to be moved to level nine," says Plutarch Heavensbee. "You will be near the rest of your team. You leave tomorrow morning. Make the most of your time together in the meantime."

Cato takes me in his arms as soon as we are alone. Well, alone if you don't count the ever present security camera. We both look at our schedulers and see we are both to report to room 54 on level nine in five minutes. We exchange a quick kiss and head off for our next appointment holding hands.

"Thanks for standing up for me," I say to Cato as we walk.

"I didn't achieve much," sighs Cato. "But at least we'll be together on this mission."


	29. Sharing

29\. Sharing.

Room 54 on level nine turns out to be a small residential unit capable of sleeping four. All the rooms along this corridor have electronic signs outside the door displaying the names of those currently assigned as occupants. Only two names appear on the sign outside room 54; Cato's and mine. It seems Plutarch Heavensbee has pulled off some trick to allow Cato and I to share a room for tonight. To my surprise I see my few personal belongings have been moved into this room; as have Cato's.

"Were you aware we were both being moved into this room?" I ask.

"Um ... I was approached yesterday about the subject. I said I was okay with the switch, but I didn't know until just now that you had agreed."

"I never got asked."

"If you object, then I'll arrange for you to be moved elsewhere. I thought you'd be pleased."

"Of course I'm pleased. It's just the arrogance of these people in assuming that your consent was all that was needed. This rebellion is doomed to failure if these people remain in charge."

"Yeah, well from what I've heard, we're a long way off achieving a rebellion. Plutarch Heavensbee can plot and scheme as much as he likes, but in the end it will be the people in the districts who will achieve the result. Now, which bunk do you prefer to sleep in?"

"Which is yours?" I ask.

"I'll take this one," replies Cato. "If that's okay with you."

"Yeah, then that's mine too," I say, even though I know we wouldn't get a good night's sleep if we both squeeze onto such a narrow bunk.

Cato understands my meaning. He takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply. My anger at our unequal treatment only fuels my desire to have Cato ease my frustrations. And he's already made it clear that he wants to make out. So we do.

Four weeks of pent up desire explodes in a flurry of increasingly physical play. Despite our cramped room ... or perhaps because if it ... we manage to get quite inventive with our games. I know enough of Cato's likes and dislikes when having sex that I can control our encounters to some extent. It means I can often keep him on the edge of release without actually allowing him to reach the final pinnacle. It's a game which excites me as much as it frustrates Cato, and his interest is preserved when he occasionally wins our contest. He tries to turn the tables on me, but he's less attuned to my body's state and needs, and he rarely wins that game.

A beeping sound on both our schedulers brings us back to reality. We're both to attend a briefing session in half an hour. A briefing with who and about what isn't stated, but I assume it's related to this morning's meeting. We have slaked our lust for the time being, so we take the opportunity to have a shower and smarten ourselves up before the briefing. I'd hate for scruffy attire to have me demoted to a fourth class resident of this place ... and yes, black patched residents do exist here.

Cato and I report for the briefing exactly on time. This place operates like some mindless machine. Arriving a minute early or a minute late seems to cause untold problems. There are seven of us arriving within seconds of each other. Apart from Major Crowe, everyone attending is a civilian, although that term is misleading. Nearly all long term residents here have had some form of paramilitary training. I nod a greeting to the major's aide, which he returns.

"You can introduce yourselves later," says the major. "You all know who I am. We have a difficult mission to perform and we'll be starting out first thing tomorrow morning. That means we have no time to train as a team. You'll be working in pairs, and each pair has its own tasks to perform. Don't mess up or you'll get everyone killed. I'd have preferred to command an expedition with military personnel, but the commander didn't want to risk using District Thirteen soldiers so close to the Capitol. This is a mission requiring cunning, not brute force."

I resist the temptation to ask why the major is leading the team if the commander didn't want to involve the military.

"Objective: Retrieve four District Two civilians from house arrest and deposit them at a safe house," continues Major Crowe as though he's reading from an instruction manual. "Details in your briefing pack. Read, memorise and leave those packs here. Do not remove the packs from this room. Your life depends on this mission being kept a secret.

"Team One: you and you ... primary task is piloting and navigating the craft. Team Two: you and you ... primary task is to retrieve the civilians; get them to the safe house, and return to the craft. Team Three: you deal with any obstacles in Team Two's way. Full details of your assignments are in your packs. Any questions? No. Good. Dismissed."

The major struts out of the room, leaving the six of us looking bewildered. Well, perhaps not the major's aide, who is probably familiar with the major's ways. I know it was called a briefing, but that was brief to the point of being ridiculous. We each grab the briefing pack with our name on it and settle down to read the contents. Cato and I are Team Two, which makes sense since it's Cato's family whom we are rescuing.

"I'm Flaco," says the major's aide to the rest of us.

We each introduce ourselves and try to get a better understanding of why we've each been assigned to this mission. We discuss the mission and our expected roles. Apart from Cato, none of us have any unique reason for being picked. Even my inclusion is unclear, although I'm glad to be chosen. Flaco is presumably coming along because the major is leading the mission. How useful he and Zoe will be as Team Three is anybody's guess. Zoe has the added limitation of being profoundly deaf. Without her hearing aids she can't hear much at all. Hopefully my first impressions are wrong and she and Flaco will be up to the task. The pilot, Grace, and Braddock the navigator, can at least fly the stolen craft we are to use, but neither is particularly skilled at their role. There must be dozens of better qualified candidates for this mission. We break up our meeting an hour or so later with the key question "why me?" still unanswered. Flaco takes charge of disposing of our briefing packs.

I share my doubts with Cato as we lie wrapped in each others arms on the narrow bunk. Neither of us can sleep, and for the moment we have satisfied our primal urges. We talk for a while before eventually falling asleep. We don't wake until the clock alarm tells us it's time to prepare for our mission.

Ten minutes to departure and the seven of us are assembled by the air hopper we are to use. It's a six seater affair like the one Plutarch Heavensbee used to rescue Cato and I from District Seven. For all I know, it could even be the same craft. It doesn't take a mathematical genius to work out that one of us isn't going on this mission. I suddenly worry that it's going to be me.

I needn't have worried. The person staying behind is Major Crowe. He's obviously the sort who believes in leading from behind. Far behind. Grace and Braddock had probably worked that out yesterday when they were told what type of craft they would be flying. We board the craft with Cato and I taking the same rear seats that we arrived in. After the Chief Engineer's fall out of the right hand side door, I'm loathe to sit in the middle row seats.

"I shall be monitoring your progress from the command centre," says Major Crowe. "Don't fail me. And remember your radio call signs."

I feel for the small portable radio in my right trouser pocket. We've been allocated clothing that matches the style worn in District Two. My District Thirteen overalls are hanging in the changing room by the hanger. I'm glad to be free of both the scheduler from my wrist, and the red patch on my sleeve. For the first time in ages I look like an ordinary district girl.

Cato is looking quite nervous. I can imagine the concern running through his mind. His parents and brother are active in the movement for better rights for workers in the districts. With the government ordered crackdown in all the districts, his family will have been prime targets for harassment by the peacekeepers. Major Crowe said that currently that's limited to Cato's family being kept under house arrest, but information leaked to Major Crowe's bosses suggests they may soon be imprisoned, or even executed. Thankfully, District Thirteen has the resources to mount a quick rescue mission. Snatching potential resistance fighters to safety from under the peacekeepers' noses does more to ferment a rebellion than weeks of verbal propaganda.

Major Crowe has done his best to convince us that this mission will be straightforward. He insists that the source of the intelligence is reliable, and the peacekeepers aren't expecting any trouble. In fact, the major regards the mission as so routine that his presence on the mission isn't required. That level of confidence bothers me, since a mission like this can't be that simple. Cato is more concerned about his family, and the other four don't share my concerns. I just hope my intuition is wrong for once.

We take off shortly after dawn for the four hour meandering flight to District Two. Avoiding detection is the first challenge our mission faces, so our planned route has many changes of course. I hope Braddock is up to the task since the auto-navigator will be switched off as it will apparently betray our presence to the peacekeepers. Our next problem is that our small craft doesn't have the range to make the journey in one hop. We'll need to make a refuelling stop at one of District Thirteen's many secret supply dumps hidden in remote parts of Panem.

We arrive at a clearing in a hilly region in the middle of nowhere. It's one of the secret supply dumps. Grace and Braddock busy themselves refuelling the craft while the rest of us stretch our legs and answer a call of nature. We're about ninety minutes from our destination according to Braddock.

"I don't understand the major's plan," I say to Flaco. "Some parts simply don't make sense."

"Which is why he's an officer and we're just the grunts," replies Flaco dismissively.

"Perhaps. But why aren't we carrying any form of identification with us? If the peacekeepers see us we can neither fight nor bluff our way out of trouble."

"The major said we are to avoid the peacekeepers," says Flaco. "Stealth, not brawn, is the key to success."

Flaco is reciting the briefing notes as though he's memorised them word for word. Perhaps he has. He's not thinking for himself. I've no desire to bump into peacekeepers, but if that happens, what are we expected to do? I'm clearly not going to get an answer from Flaco.

We resume our journey. It's approaching midday by the time Braddock finds the field we are to land in. At least we all hope it's the correct field. Braddock didn't look all that confident while he was trying to locate the landing site. According to my watch we are already fifty minutes behind schedule. Cato, Flaco, Zoe and I leave the landing area quickly. Grace and Braddock report our arrival to Major Crowe and prepare the craft for a quick getaway. As we depart I can hear them discussing the state of the craft's fuel supply, which I guess has been depleted by our lengthy search for this landing site.

Cato knows this area so we make good progress towards the part of the town where his parents' house is located. There's no sign of any peacekeepers, and my earlier concerns start to ease. It's Cato who suddenly realises that things aren't as they should be.

"There's nobody about," says Cato. "It's a though this area has been evacuated."

Even though we're within a kilometre of his parents' house, Cato insists we stop where we are and hide. Flaco disagrees with Cato's decision.

"I think you're jumping at shadows," says Flaco. "Zoe and I will scout ahead and check the coast is clear."

Zoe is obviously uncertain about Flaco's casual attitude, but as an indoctrinated District Thirteen girl she doesn't object to a decision made by a man. Even a man who clearly has no idea what he's up against. I mentally reach for my bow and arrows to provide them with cover, but like everyone else on this mission, I'm unarmed.

Cato and I watch them carefully as they walk down the street towards the fountain in the small square up ahead. Then it happens. A loud squealing noise has Cato and I clutching our ears. The noise is coming from the square. Flaco is writhing on the ground in visible pain. Only Zoe is unaffected. She must have switched off her hearing aids.

Zoe tries to pull Flaco back towards us, but he's thrashing about too much for her to help him. Cato and I retreat until the noise no longer hurts our ears. Then the sound stops as suddenly as it started. Cato and I risk a look back towards the square and nearly collide with Zoe who has had to abandon Flaco where he lies.


	30. The cellar

30\. The cellar.

We move closer to the square to see if we can find Flaco. He's there, lying in the middle of the street. He's not moving at all. Zoe makes a move to go to him, but Cato grabs her arm to hold her back. Seconds later I can see the reason for Cato's caution. A peacekeeper patrol vehicle is moving towards Flaco. They haven't seen us, but we're too exposed to risk running to safety. We duck into a doorway where we can hopefully see what is going on, without being seen ourselves.

The patrol vehicle stops near to Flaco and two peacekeepers jump out. They examine Flaco's inert body and then haul him to his feet. I can't be certain, but from the way the peacekeepers are holding Flaco, he could still be alive. They manhandle him into the back seat of the vehicle and continue their journey. Our whole mission is about to be blown apart. If we are lucky, we'll have enough time to make it back to the Grace and Braddock before the peacekeepers can get a coherent statement out of Flaco. A professional soldier might resist interrogation for days, but I can't imagine Flaco holding out for more than five minutes. I don't need to look at Cato to know that he's not going to abandon his family, who will unknowingly be in a lot more danger once Flaco talks.

"Cato and I are carrying on with the mission," I say to Zoe. "You should return to craft and get away while you can. We had best warn them of what has happened."

"No," replies Zoe, having switched her hearing aids back on. "I'm staying with you. Grace and Braddock won't wait for us once we tell them about Flaco's capture. If we do as you suggest, I'll end up standing alone in an empty field."

I'm impressed that Zoe hasn't tried to persuade Cato and I to abort the mission. She too must realise the danger Cato's family are in thanks to our bungling. We don't have time to stop and plan our actions. Every second counts.

We make our way through the back streets to Cato's family house. There's a solitary peacekeeper standing guard at the front of the house, but we soon find that the rear entrance is unguarded. However, the peacekeepers aren't complete fools. The back door is sealed shut with heavy iron bars, similar to the ones over all the rear and side windows. Fortunately for us, the bars are designed to stop a breakout from inside the house. With the right tools we can unfasten the bars from the outside. Cato thinks he knows where to find what we need.

It takes precious minutes, but Cato finds the tools he's looking for, and the bars over the kitchen door are soon unbolted. Zoe and I are keeping watch the whole time in case the peacekeeper decides to take a look round the back of the house.

The door itself is unlocked, and I follow Cato into the house while Zoe stays on guard. We are careful not to take Cato's family by surprise. The last thing we need is a loud family reunion that attracts the peacekeeper's attention. We find Cato's family sat huddled in the living room. When I was told they were under house arrest, I had assumed they were simply confined to the house, but otherwise free to move about. What we find borders on cruelty of the worst kind, even for the ruthless regime of President Snow.

Cato's mother and father are sat on the floor bound back to back by rope. They have hoods over their heads, loosely tied around their necks to stop them from being shaken off. His brother and sister are similarly bound.

"Stay quiet," whispers Cato to his family as he quickly removes their hoods. He needn't have worried, they are gagged as well for good measure. I overcome my shock and help Cato unbind his family.

"It's a trap," cries Cato's mother as soon as her mouth is free of the gag. "You've been lured here thinking you could rescue us. Get out. Now."

Zoe's arrival from the kitchen tells us our chance to escape has long gone. A squad of peacekeepers have arrived to seal their encirclement. We've been set up ... again! Fortunately the three of us remain calm and finish releasing Cato's family from their bonds.

The peacekeepers threat to execute Cato's family was nothing more than bait to get District Thirteen to mount this rescue mission. It was likely Cato would be on the mission, and I'm guessing that he's the prize the peacekeepers are after. I'm probably just a bonus.

"The secret cellar," says Cato. "Everyone downstairs."

With the peacekeepers only metres away we have no time to argue. The possibility that we might be armed causes the peacekeepers to be cautious. The delay gives us vital seconds to go down into the basement. But we're trapped in this large rectangular room. The peacekeepers won't take long to find us down here.

But Cato has a trick still to play. Behind a pile of junk is an old cupboard. The cupboard hides a hidden door leading to a tiny cellar beyond. It's barely big enough for us all to fit, but somehow the seven of us manage to squeeze in. Cato closes the cupboard door and the hidden door behind us. His actions won't prevent a determined search from finding us, but it buys us more time. Cato has yet one more trick up his sleeve. A well disguised trap door in the floor leads down into a tunnel. The whole family must know about this as there is no hesitation in their actions. Cato's brother leads the way, followed by his sister and parents. Zoe is next with Cato and I bringing up the rear.

Fortunately it isn't pitch black since candles and matches were left by the entrance to this well prepared escape route. The tunnel is narrow and we need to crawl in most places. The tunnel looks as though its a natural cave, gouged out by an ancient underground stream that dried up long ago. Eventually we come to an opening to the surface in a rocky outcrop to the south of the town.

"Why didn't you use the escape route earlier?" asks Cato of his father when we risk stopping for a rest.

"And go where?" replies his father. "The peacekeepers would turn this district upside down looking for us once they realised we had disappeared. The only thing likely to deter them from doing that now is because they want to capture you even more. Your mother and I aren't as young as we once were. We won't last long on the run."

"You don't seem surprised to find Cato is still alive," I say.

"We didn't know for sure. The sudden change in the conditions of our confinement meant it was a possibility. Why else would the peacekeepers truss us up like that. As much as people respect us here, nobody but Cato or is allies were likely to go to so much trouble to rescue us."

I can tell that Cato and his family are bursting for a huge family reunion, but they are suppressing their feelings while we are still in danger. I admire their fortitude. I don't know if I could do the same if I found myself in my family's company once again.

"We had best keep moving," I say. "Are we still going to try for the safe house?"

"No," replies Cato. "The safe house is probably compromised. Flaco knew its location. We'll have to get my family back to District Thirteen."

"How?" I reply. "Grace and Braddock may leave without us. Their orders were to take off at two-thirty regardless. It's nearly that now. We can't reach them in time."

"Surely they'll allow us the extra fifty minutes caused by our late arrival?" says Cato.

"No. They won't," replies Zoe. "I've worked with Grace before. She won't wait a moment longer than her orders state. Besides, the moment Flaco talks, they'll be a target for the peacekeepers."

"Radio them now, and tell them what has happened," I say. "Ask them if they'll wait for us."

Zoe makes the call. As I thought likely, all we've done is make them leave immediately. They've abandoned us to our fate. Of course, Cato, Zoe and I were going to be left behind anyway. The six-seater craft could have whisked Cato's family to safety, but there would have been no room for the three of us.

"Now what do we do?" asks Cato to nobody in particular.

"We split up," replies Cato's father. "We're sitting ducks while we remain grouped together like this. The peacekeepers heat seeking devices will lock onto a group our size in no time at all."

I've no idea what the peacekeepers devices can or cannot do, but what Cato's father says makes sense. So we divide into three groups. Cato's brother goes with his sister towards a small settlement to the west. Cato's parents head back into town to find friends who may be willing to shelter them. Cato, Zoe and I are to head east until we're clear of any pursuit. I hope that will be soon, because every step to the east brings us closer to the Capitol.

We catch a glimpse of the craft we arrived in making a hasty escape to the south. Grace is flying the craft very low to the ground, as though she's trying to avoid being picked up on radar. She switches on the craft's cloaking device and it vanishes before our eyes. I silently wish them good luck even though they refused to wait for us. The arrival of two much larger craft a few minutes later suggests Grace made the right decision.

There's little more than a game trail through this forest, and it needs all my hunting skills to stop us from walking in circles. We are relatively safe from detection from above while we remain in these trees. The abundant wildlife around us will confuse any heat seeking devices the peacekeepers may try to use. Our only problem is that the hills either side of us are keeping us to an easterly course. The outer perimeter of the Capitol is only three kilometres away.

Hunger and thirst are our immediate worries. We find a stream easily enough, but all three of us lack any form of equipment. We must drink by scooping water into our hands. There are a few berries which are edible, but the tall trees shade out most of the fruit bearing bushes. I find a vine which seems strong enough for a snare. I'll try it out when we stop for an overnight break.

"Is there a way out of this valley?" I ask Cato, hoping he knows more about our surroundings than he's volunteered so far.

"We've a choice," replies Cato. "We can continue east and try to break through the outer defences of the Capitol. Or there's a goat track a kilometre or so ahead of us which leads over the hills to the north."

"Where would the goat track take us?" I ask.

"Nowhere much. It runs parallel to the Capitol perimeter for a while before petering out."

"So what do you think we should do?" I ask.

"Keep heading east," replies Cato. "Going back isn't an option. The town will be swarming with peacekeepers by now. They'll get around to checking this area eventually. What they won't anticipate is us breaking into the Capitol."

"You're crazy!" I laugh. "The peacekeepers won't need to look for us. We'll be walking straight into their welcoming arms. Tell him he's wrong, Zoe."

Involving Zoe is a mistake. I realise that the moment the words leave my mouth. She's been indoctrinated into District Thirteen's male dominated society. There's no way she would ever contradict a man's suggestion. I'm outvoted and it looks as though we'll be breaking into the Capitol.

But not until morning. According to Cato the fence is rigged with trip wires. Even he agrees that trying to get through in the dark is suicidal. We find a hollow to hide in for tonight. We've no change of clothes or sleeping bags, so we must settle for dry leaves as a blanket. No fire either. I could start a fire without matches, but it would be too easily seen this close to the Capitol's perimeter. At least I can try out my snare.

"Don't worry, I've done this before," says Cato as I lie in his arms later.

"What?! You've broken into the Capitol before?"

"Yes. When I was nine years old. I did it as a dare. Lot's of kids from District Two do it. It's a sort of initiation ritual. Few make it through the second fence; I reached the fourth fence before they caught me. The Capitol's defences aren't as formidable as you may think."

"But you were still caught?" I ask, not reassured at all.

"Only because I got careless. I've grown up since then. I'll not make that mistake again."

"What did the peacekeepers do when they caught you?" I ask.

"What they usually did. Returned me to District Two to spend a night in lock-up before being sent home."

"I can't see them letting us off that lightly if they catch us."

"No. But it won't matter where they catch us, our fate will be the same. The risks aren't that much greater than trying to survive in District Two without any identification papers. I'm not going to hold my breath waiting for District Thirteen to come to our rescue. From their point of view, this was a minimum commitment mission from the outset."

"So you're suggesting we go for broke," I reply.


	31. Set up to fail

31\. Set up to fail.

"You were right about this mission," says Cato, just as I'm drifting off to sleep. "There's something wrong about the way it was organised."

"I know. Lots of things don't fit. It's almost as though we were set up to fail."

"Perhaps not to fail, but I don't think Flaco, Zoe, you and I were intended to return to District Thirteen. I think whoever is behind this mission wants us to remain here and rouse people into rebellion."

"Then why didn't Heavensbee or Major Crowe simply say so. I'm more than happy to be away from the confines of District Thirteen. If they had told us openly, we could have been provided with the tools and equipment we need."

"Hmmm ... You're right, but I still think we're being left here to fend for ourselves. Perhaps Zoe knows something."

"We'll have to wait until morning to ask her. She's taken her hearing aids out when she settled down to sleep."

"Which is another reason that makes me think there's more to this mission than we were told. She's the one person on our team who is immune to the peacekeepers' high pitch sirens that immobilise everybody else. Heavensbee or Crowe must have anticipated we'd run into those weapons despite saying the peacekeepers weren't expecting any trouble."

"Hmm ... Well if we're not likely to rouse Zoe from her sleep, we can amuse ourselves for a while," I say.

"You brazen hussy. If I didn't know better I'd say you were wanting me to teach you a lesson in proper submissive behaviour."

"You and whose army, Cato. Don't let District Thirteen's male oriented moral code go to your head. We're not in District Thirteen any more, and I'm every bit your equal."

"Only if I let you ... Ouch, that hurt!"

"It'll hurt even more if I cut it off," I tease.

"Then you would be the bigger loser. Don't try telling me you don't like to play this instrument of desire."

"Hah! It doesn't need to be attached to your body for it to give me pleasure."

"That's gross! Besides, how will I be able to father the rest of our brood."

"Brood? Are you suggesting you want me to give you more children? How many did you have in mind?"

"Hmmm ... I hadn't really thought that far ahead. Seven; eight perhaps."

"What do you think I am? A prize cow to be bred?"

"Of course not. A prize cow wouldn't complain as much as you do."

"I think you've spent too long in District Thirteen," I laugh. "You're not my lord and master. I suggest we get this one delivered before you start planning for more. Besides, how do you intend to support such a large family?"

"That shouldn't be too difficult. You're still young. You can earn enough money working in a factory in between popping out our next child. I'm sure my parents will look after the children while you're out at work."

"Working while you're sitting on your backside contemplating your next fanciful dream, I suppose."

"Yeah ... probably."

"It's a good job I know you're joking, Cato. I don't think your vision of our future is going to work out."

"Am I joking? Dreaming perhaps. Okay, if not eight kids, how many?"

"I don't know. Hadn't we best get through the next few days and weeks before we start making long term plans. Besides, we haven't actually discussed our living arrangements once this child is born. We can't live as fugitives forever. Being on the run with a baby in tow is going to place us all in jeopardy."

"Yes, we'll need to do something about that before long. But why are we involving ourselves in this rebellion if we don't have our own long term goal?"

"I don't think we've been given a choice," I reply. "We didn't ask to be kidnapped from the Hunger Games arena. Everything that's happened to us since is linked to that event. I still think this is like a game of chess between powerful players; and we are simply pawns to be sacrificed if necessary."

"Pawns perhaps. But in a game of chess, a pawn is capable of becoming a powerful piece in the game."

"Hmmm ... Now how about we get some sleep?"

"What? No sex?"

"You want sex after you've tried to enslave me by your fanciful whims?! You're an optimist."

"I'd never chain you to my ambitions, but don't pretend you don't think about the future. Our future. So stop playing hard to get and take off your pants."

I look at Cato for a few seconds before deciding. "Okay," I reply.

For a while I lose myself in the wild animal passions of our lovemaking. It's only later that I reflect on our earlier conversation. Cato has finally admitted that he wants a future in which he and I are together. That alone makes my feelings soar into the clouds. Cato's right to say that I've thought about the future, but not beyond the next few months or so. To be honest, I don't know if I'll be ready for motherhood at seventeen. I'm definitely not ready to start a huge family as Cato proposed. And of course there are numerous obstacles in our path to any future at all. Not least of which is sneaking into the Capitol. If I could come up with a better alternative I'd voice it at once ... but I can't think of one.

Zoe hasn't woken during Cato and my wild night of passion; or if she has, she's been considerate enough to pretend otherwise. The three of us rise shortly after dawn and I quickly go to check my snare. The trap has been sprung, but whatever animal triggered it managed to escape. The vines weren't as strong as I thought. It's perhaps as well, I doubt we would be able to stop and cook it. It looks as though we'll have to settle with a few berries for breakfast.

"We need to get going now, anyway," says Cato when I tell him of my lack of success. "We've several obstacles to cross and the half light of dawn will work to our advantage."

I don't have time to ask how Cato knows this information, and I just hope he's right. He said he made this trip years ago, but the Capitol's defences could have been improved considerably since then. If Zoe is concerned in any way she hides her emotions.

"Are you okay with Cato's plan?" I ask.

"Yes, of course," replies Zoe, as though my question is stupid.

"What about your hearing aids. How long are the batteries going to last?"

"Oh, that's no problem," replies Zoe. "The batteries last about a week, and I've plenty of spares with me."

"That's good. Do you normally carry a lot of spare batteries?"

"Not normally. But I didn't know how long this mission was going to last. Neither the major nor Flaco thought fit to tell me."

I stop in my tracks. "Hold on. Did you know before we left District Thirteen yesterday that we weren't going to be returning straight away?"

"Not for sure. As I said, I wasn't informed of the full plan. The briefing packs implied we'd be heading back after we got Cato's family to the safe house, but my inclusion in the team made it seem likely we'd be here for a while. I came prepared just in case."

"What is it about your inclusion that made you think that?" I ask as we resume following Cato.

"My supervisor on level nineteen has been trying to get me out of his team ever since the accident that wrecked my hearing. He was partly responsible for the accident. My continued presence in his team is an unwelcome reminder of his failure, and a barrier to his future promotion. Once I learned that my supervisor and Major Crowe were good friends I didn't anticipate returning from this mission any time soon."

"What about Flaco?" I ask. "Did he know we wouldn't be going back?"

"I don't know. He never told me anything about the mission that wasn't in the briefing pack. As Major Crowe's aide I presume he knows something about the real goal of our mission. I guess the peacekeepers will find out more about our mission than we know."

"Hah! Wouldn't that be a joke on them. Imagine them diverting resources to block a secret rebel mission that only the peacekeepers know about."

"Pay attention, you two," whispers Cato. "We're getting close to the first fence."

We stop at the edge of the trees. Ahead of us is a cleared strip of land about fifty metres wide, with a three metre high wire fence running across the middle. The forest resumes on the far side of the clearing. There's no sign of any patrols or watchtowers, nor any cameras mounted on the top of the fence. The Capitol itself isn't visible from our location.

"This fence is mainly to stop large animals from entering the Capitol," says Cato. "Watch where you walk, there could be mines."

We cross the cleared area carefully. I study the fence and realise that it's exactly the same as the one surrounding District Twelve. It's supposed to be electrified to keep dangerous animals out; but like the one at home, it isn't switched on. This isn't so much a boundary fence for the Capitol, as one to protect the residents of District Two from wild animals. The real defences for the Capitol must be further on.

We climb through the gaps in the barbed wire and make our way towards the next fence. According to Cato it is a few hundred metres east of us on the other side of a small rise. It's an easy climb and the trees provide us with ample cover. There could be hidden cameras, similar to those in the Hunger Games arena, but that seems unlikely. The perimeter of the Capitol must be over fifty kilometres long. The peacekeepers would need a massive number of cameras to watch the whole area. If they can't find the electricity for the fence, they aren't likely to have any spare for the cameras. We crest the hill and get our first glimpse of the Capitol on the horizon, and, closer to us, its boundary defences. We must be crazy to try and breach those.

Perhaps we are crazy, but Cato doesn't hesitate in leading us along a shallow gully towards the wire mesh fence before us. This one is in good condition and looks as though it's been repaired in recent times. The mesh prevents us from climbing through the fence, so we must either go over it or under it. Going over the three metre high fence would leave us exposed to any passing patrol, so our best option is to go underneath. Cato tells us that when he came along this route many years ago, there was a gap at the bottom of the fence where this gully crosses the fence line. Unfortunately any gap that once existed has since been filled by a metal grill. Cato looks at the grill with a frustrated look on his face.

Despite the setback we take a better look at the grill. It must have been here for years. The steel has rusted where the water flows along the gully in heavy rain. The occasional torrent has moved the grill slightly out of alignment. The grill can't be fixed to the ground very well. I tentatively pull on the bars and one of them moves a short way. Not enough to allow us access through the barrier, but enough to confirm the bars aren't anchored to the ground. Cato sees what I'm trying to do and takes over. He is stronger than me, and he soon works one of the bars free. He moves onto the two adjacent bars.

Ten minutes later we've created a large enough hole to crawl through. Once we're on the other side, we push the bars back in place to disguise our entry. There are no tracks from land vehicles or footprints anywhere around here, but that doesn't mean this area isn't patrolled by flying craft. We push on as quickly as we can while the early hour means there are plenty of shadows. Cato leads us towards the place where he breached the next fence when he was nine years old.

To our surprise the strip of land, which obviously marks the next fence line, is overgrown with low bushes and long grass. Parts of the fence have collapsed and it wouldn't take much effort to bring more of it down. It obviously hasn't been maintained in years.

"That's strange," muses Cato. "It's as though they don't need this barrier any more."

"Perhaps they don't," I reply, recalling the formidable wall I saw from the hill. "Maybe the next barrier has been reinforced, making this one redundant."

"Or perhaps this area is mined," suggests Zoe.

We freeze in our tracks. Cato crouches down to examine the ground. I do likewise. The thick grass could hide mines, but they must have been in place for many years. There are a few animal trails ... probably rabbits ... criss-crossing the deforested area. Following the trails may be safer, but it isn't a guarantee. A rabbit may be light enough to run over a mine, while our heavier footfalls would set it off. But there's no going back for us, so we press on.


	32. Weakest point

32\. Weakest point.

Our caution at the derelict fence proves unnecessary. We are on the other side of the fence when we see a passel of wild hogs grazing near the fence about a hundred metres from our position. They are large enough to set off the mines, if any existed. Nevertheless I don't resume breathing normally until we're into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

A short while later we face what is our final, and probably insurmountable, obstacle between us and the Capitol. All we need to do is get to the other side of a three metre high concrete wall with a two metre electrified fence on top. A working one judging by the humming noise we can hear. Simple? Yeah right! And before we can tackle that we need to get through the two razor wire fences between us and the wall.

"We're never going to be able to get across that," I say to Cato. "How did you even get as far as you did last time?"

"This has all been built since I was last here," replies Cato dejectedly.

"There will be outlets for water and waste," says Zoe. "They will be the weakest point in the Capitol's defences."

"Are you speaking from detailed knowledge, or are you just guessing?" I ask.

"A bit of both," concedes Zoe. "It's the same in District Thirteen. When I was a kid, my friends and I used to explore the complex trying to find a way to the outside. Normally we weren't allowed out without permission, so we made it our goal to find ways to sneak in and out. We found several ways over the years, all of them using inlet or outlet pipes or channels. Of course, if one of us was caught, the wardens would have that exit secured, but they never bothered to secure all the similar routes."

"So you could sneak back into District Thirteen if you wanted?" asks Cato.

"Possibly. You're not the only person who hasn't done this sort of thing since you were nine years old. I don't know if the exits I knew about then have since been secured. It's the same here. We don't know if the outlet pipes are properly secured. If you don't like the idea, then you're the one in charge."

"Well it's a better plan than throwing ourselves at that monstrosity," I say, not challenging Zoe's assertion that Cato is in charge of our group. "Let's circle the wall from the safety of these woods. Perhaps we'll see a possible way in that's worth investigating."

We've probably walked about six or seven kilometres by the time we stumble upon something out of the ordinary. It's the sound which attracts us first. A huge whooshing sound, which lasts for a few seconds, before fading into nothing. It's coming from something slightly further into the woods, and some distance from the wall. Our search is initially unsuccessful, since we've no idea what we are looking for, or how far it is into these woods. Then there's an identical sound which follows the same pattern as before. We are much closer to the source and we can get a much better fix on its location. A minute or so later we find it. It's a circular structure about two metres high and four metres in diameter. There's a ladder fixed to the side. Cato climbs the ladder and nearly falls back in surprise when he looks over the top of the wall.

"It's hollow. There's a ladder going down the inside wall. It must be a huge well."

"No," I reply. "It's more likely to be a ventilation shaft for a mine or a tunnel."

"Then what caused the noise we heard?" asks Cato.

"Trains," I reply after a few moments thought. "Do you remember when we were arriving in the Capitol for the Hunger Games? Didn't the train go through a long tunnel before we reached the station?"

"Yes, I remember," replies Cato. "So you think we're above the railroad tunnel?"

"It's possible. Even if it isn't the tunnel we travelled along before, it's likely to lead into the Capitol."

"So your suggestion is that we to climb down this shaft, and then walk along the tunnel into the Capitol?" ask Cato.

"Yes," I reply cautiously, fearing Cato has detected a flaw in my thinking.

"And what if a train comes along while we're inside the tunnel. Even if we don't get hit, the air turbulence will smash us to pieces."

"Not necessarily," says Zoe. "There could be a service tunnel running alongside the main tunnel for the maintenance crews. Failing that, there should at least be safety points for workmen to shelter in when a train approaches. Besides, ventilation shafts like this one enable the air to escape from the tunnel, reducing the turbulence."

"Well, it's worth investigating," says Cato. "You had better let me go first."

"Of course," replies Zoe. "A leader should always lead by example. But let me have a look at the top of the ladder before you climb down. This shaft may not be completely unprotected. I've come across a few tricks when I explored the ducts and channels of District Thirteen."

Zoe climbs up and takes a look down the shaft. She returns to us a minute or so later looking pleased with herself.

"As I thought, the ladder inside the shaft has an alarm which will be triggered when you step on certain rungs. We're in luck, though. From what I can see it's only the third and eighth rungs which have sensors attached. If we avoid touching those, we should be able to enter unnoticed."

I'm impressed by Zoe's knowledge, and my estimation of her abilities increases. If only she'd not defer to Cato every time he opens his mouth. He's big-headed enough as it is. We follow Cato down the shaft, which fortunately isn't more than thirty metres or so deep. The ladder deposits us into a small alcove besides the track. There's enough light from the shaft above for us to see our immediate surroundings. We peek along the track in both directions. In the direction of District Two we can see a faint light which must be the entrance to the tunnel. We can't see the end of the tunnel in the direction of the Capitol, suggesting the tunnel is curved, or changes grade before reaching the open air. It's not completely dark. There must be more ventilation shafts further on as there a pools of daylight every few hundred metres. There's no service tunnel as Zoe had hoped, but there are alcoves like this one every fifty metres or so. They can be identified by a broad white luminescent band painted around the entrance to each alcove. There's a large number 15 painted with the same luminescent paint inside this alcove.

"The tunnel seems clear," says Cato. "Let's get going."

We follow Cato along the side of the track in the direction of the Capitol. Fortunately there is a smooth walkway near to the tunnel wall, so we can make good progress despite the gloom. We pass an alcove bearing the number 14 and soon begin counting down the numbers. Hopefully by the time we reach number one we are in sight of the tunnel entrance.

We are midway between alcoves nine and eight when we hear a sound which must be an oncoming train. We don't know how long we have before it passes us, so we run the alcove ahead of us. It's as well that we ran since a train speeds by us less than ten seconds later. We are buffeted by the slipstream despite the shelter provided by the alcove. Had we been caught in the tunnel itself we could have been seriously injured. We wait to make sure there isn't a second train coming in the opposite direction before continuing on our way.

We stop at the alcove numbered one and study the tunnel entrance from the darkness of the tunnel. The tunnel curves gently at this end, which is why we couldn't see the entrance before alcove number four. The end of the tunnel is monitored by cameras and a small peacekeeper station overlooking the track. Breaking through without being seen is going to be impossible in daylight and extremely difficult at night.

"What about going back to alcove four and climb up the ventilation shaft that was there?" I suggest.

"It's worth a try," replies Cato. "Are you okay with that, Zoe?"

"Yes, of course," replies Zoe. "You're our leader, Cato."

I resist the temptation to gag. Cato clearly asked Zoe for her opinion just to hear her say those words. She and I are going to need to have a serious girl-talk sometime soon. We retrace our steps to the alcove numbered four. A ladder goes up about fifteen metres to the surface. We can't see the surrounding area from down here, but we must be well within the boundaries of the Capitol.

Cato asks Zoe to check the ladder for sensors, which means she must climb first. She doesn't object, even though her ingrained training would have taught her that a male of our group should go first. I prepare to climb up after Zoe, since Cato seems determined to bring up the rear.

"Wait, Katniss," says Cato. "Let Zoe check everything is clear first. If this shaft opens out into a busy public place then we'll be seen and arrested before we can climb back down. If Zoe is caught, she'll probably be thrown into jail; if you and I are caught then a far more gruesome fate awaits us. It's better that only one of us risks capture."

"That's not a very brave thing to say," Cato. "Besides, there's no going back for us. We see this mission through together, or we die in the attempt."

"We don't even know what our mission is supposed to be," says Cato. "If we don't know what we are trying to achieve, then how do we know when we achieve it?"

"This is a discussion for later," I reply. "Come on. Zoe's nearly at the top."

"The shaft isn't alarmed," says Zoe when I reach where she is standing on the ladder.

"Do you want me to take a look over the parapet?" I ask.

"No. I can do it. Is Cato here?"

"I'm just below Katniss," replies Cato. "We're both right behind you."

"Is it okay if I take a look now?" asks Zoe, obviously directing her question to Cato.

"Yes, go ahead," replies Cato in a smug tone, knowing how Zoe's subservient manner irritates me.

Zoe climbs the last few rungs and takes a quick look around before ducking down. She repeats the movement a few more times, looking in different directions each time.

"We're in some sort of industrial area," says Zoe. "It could be a scrap yard or something similar. There's no sign of anybody nearby."

"Let's go, then," says Cato. "Find a hiding place once you're out of this shaft."

We move as quickly and as stealthily as possible. We're lucky that nobody is about, since the sight of three people climbing out of the shaft would arouse suspicion at once. Zoe was right. This is a scrap yard full of household junk and rusting vehicles. A scruffy shack near the entrance to the yard confirms our observations. A battered sign states the yard's opening hours, and we seem to have arrived during the owner's lunch break.

The yard gate is firmly locked and the high walls formed by the adjacent buildings are too difficult to climb without risking being seen. We'll need to wait for the owner to return and unlock the gate before we can get out of here. However, the wait will give us a chance to discuss our next move. We've made it into the Capitol undetected, but our troubles are far from over. In fact, they're only just beginning. We're wearing clothing which will instantly identify us as district people. Our last meal was only a few berries, nearly seven hours ago. And we've neither money nor identification papers. More importantly, we've no idea of where to go or what to do next. Despite our euphoria at successfully breaking into the Capitol, we're still in a great deal of danger.

To add to our discomfort, the weather is starting to turn nasty. The wind is blowing stronger and a bad storm looks as though it is brewing. We find some shelter among the rusting vehicles at the back of the scrap yard.

"If all else fails, we use this as a base for our operations," says Cato, examining the remains of an old bus.

Operations?! Cato is off in his private dream world again! The only operations the three of us are capable of carrying out at the moment are geared towards our own survival. Nevertheless, Zoe and I take a look inside the bus, while Cato checks the outside. The bus has possibilities as a hideout, assuming we can find a way of getting into and out of the yard without being seen. The vehicle has no engine and the wheels have all been removed. But the body is more or less intact with only a few missing windows. It's location at the back of the yard suggests this area doesn't receive many visitors. I'm mistaken ...

"Who's there?" calls someone. I don't recognise the man's voice. Damn! We should have left one of us on watch.


	33. Welcome to paradise

33\. Welcome to paradise.

The three of us could easily overpower the elderly man standing before us. Unfortunately the large dog standing passively beside him isn't likely to let us do that without a fight. The man doesn't introduce himself, but I presume he's the owner of the yard. Cato must be thinking along the same lines as me, and he makes no move towards the man. Zoe, of course, follows Cato's lead.

"What yer doin' 'ere?" ask the man of Cato.

"We were just looking," says Cato. "We got locked in while we were wandering about."

"Di'na see yer arrive," says the man. "Are yer tryin' to escape? Yer won't be th' first gr'up to try the tunnel."

"Escape?" replies Cato.

"Yeah," laughs the old man. "Old I might be; stup'd I ain't. That shaft has be'n the route of many a y'ung uns dream of gettin' ou' of this 'ell hole of a Capit'l."

The old man's words stun Cato into silence. I, too, am shocked by his implication that people brought up in the luxury of the Capitol would want to escape to the squalor of the districts. But then, from what I can see around me, this part of the Capitol doesn't look very affluent. Fortunately our silence doesn't raise the man's suspicion.

"Hey, pa. What have you got here?" asks a younger man approaching our group. It's as well we didn't try to fight our way out of here. Between the dog and the old man's son, we would have likely come off second best.

"Yer deal wi' 'em, Caligula," says the old man as he and the dog return to the shack that passes for an office.

"Well, at least you had the sense to change into proper clothes," says Caligula after studying us for a few seconds. "You'd be surprised at how many fools try to escape wearing their fancy Capitol garb. Let's see your ID cards?"

"We don't have them with us," I reply, when Cato seems at a loss for words.

"Hmmm. Smart move," concedes Caligula. "Less danger to your families that way. I've known whole families to be arrested because a careless child got caught by the peacekeepers trying to escape from this paradise."

"So what happens now?" asks Cato.

"There's a fee for using this shaft," replies Caligula. "It buys our silence, and it also means I'll tell you how to get out of the tunnel at the other end. You can't just walk out of the tunnel and into District Two. At least, not without being arrested."

"We've no money with us," replies Cato.

"Then get out of here and don't return until you do. Fifty each. For another five hundred each I'll swap your Capitol identification cards for fake District Two papers."

We don't need a second invitation to leave. I've no idea what the old man and his son's attitude would be if they knew we were district people breaking into the Capitol, and not the other way round. The shaft obviously provides a good little money spinner for them.

"Wait," calls Caligula as we are almost through the gate. "Borrow these in case you are stopped. I'd hate for you to be arrested before you return."

He hands us three Capitol citizen identification cards. To us they are worth their weight in gold, even though the photographs on the cards don't look anything like us. They were presumably exchanged by a recent group of people who paid for passage along the railroad tunnel.

"Thanks," replies Cato.

"You're welcome," replies Caligula. "It'll cost you another ten each though."

It seems that Caligula's generous act is nothing more than an attempt to earn even more money. We each pocket an identification card and leave as quickly as we can.

My first impressions of this part of the Capitol are confirmed. This area has seen much better days. The poorly maintained buildings are either abandoned or provide homes for people who live in conditions no better than in District Twelve. It's a far cry from the modern and splendid city the television broadcasts present to the districts. I begin to wonder whether the seeds of rebellion grow just as strong in the poorer areas of the Capitol as they do in the districts.

Fortunately our District Two clothing doesn't look too out of place. The local residents we come across all wear an assortment of bland but functional clothing. In a nearby square a peacekeepers' watchtower lies derelict, suggesting they no longer bother patrolling this area. We duck inside an empty building and take a few minutes to plan our next move. Our biggest handicap is the lack of money. Unfortunately, none of us can come up with a way to solve that problem, and hunger is only making a solution more urgent.

I look at the identification card Caligula gave me. Marcella Greene, age 17, student. The photograph on the card looks nothing like me, although changing the colour and style of my hair might fool someone doing only a cursory identity check. Her address is printed on the card, although I've no idea where in the Capitol it is.

Cato and Zoe check their cards. Gaius Proctor, 18 and Fleur Debrett, 19. Both students and living in the same area as Marcella if the area code at the end of the address means anything. The photographs on their cards are nothing like Cato and Zoe.

"You two had better swap identity cards," says Cato. "Then at least your hair colours will match the photographs. Besides, Zoe would have a hard time passing for a 19 year old."

Zoe promptly moves to do as Cato suggests and we swap cards. I'm not certain I could pass for 19 either, but I can see Cato's point about our hair colour. I quickly memorize what I must about Fleur Debrett in case we are stopped by a patrol.

"Now what?" asks Cato.

"We should go and check the area where our identification cards say we're from," I reply before Zoe tries to remind Cato that she regards him as being in charge. "We'll be expected to know something about the area we are from if we get stopped."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," replies Cato. "We can't do much here."

"This old building might be a useful bolt hole if we find ourselves on the run," suggests Zoe. "If we get separated we can meet up back here."

"Good thinking," says Cato. "We can scribble a message on that wall if we lose contact with each other."

"What about the radios?" I say, remembering the small portable devices in our pockets.

"The peacekeepers will pick up on the frequency the moment we try to use them," replies Zoe. "The radios are set to a secure military frequency used only by District Thirteen. The peacekeepers won't be able to decipher our calls, but any transmissions on that frequency will probably be investigated at once. Besides, they have too short a range to reach District Thirteen, and it's safer for us to communicate with each other by more regular means. I suggest we hide the radios here."

Neither Cato nor I know enough about the matter to disagree with Zoe's suggestion. We hide the radios inside the abandoned building.

"What about our clothing?" I ask. "We're probably okay moving about this area, but we'll stick out like a sore thumb if we go into the more affluent areas of the Capitol."

None of us can come up with a solution to my question, so we decide that we'll simply have to risk being noticed. We head in the direction of the railroad station anticipating that there will be a map of the Capitol on display. We find our way to a large thoroughfare which fortunately has a signpost pointing the direction to the railroad station. After walking a few blocks we notice that the standard of the buildings around us has improved slightly, although the area is still a long way short of the image of the Capitol portrayed on television.

A crowded market set up on an empty lot gives us a chance to get some food. Between the free samples and the few pieces of fruit that happen to fall into our pockets, we scrounge enough food to keep us going. We don't linger too long as it is well into the afternoon and I know we're on borrowed time. The longer we walk around in public in our district clothes, the more likely we are to be stopped by a peacekeeper. I don't fool myself into believing my identity card will stand up to more than a casual glance.

Our luck holds and just over an hour later we're standing outside the apartment building where Marcella Greene lives. We've already checked the addresses given on Cato's and my cards. They are both student accommodation blocks in the nearby university campus. Fortunately the wide assortment of clothing worn by the students doesn't make us stand out.

Marcella's address is a several blocks away in what appears to be a wealthy residential area. The entrance to the apartment block is guarded by a huge doorman who looks more than capable of dealing with any troublemakers. He sees us looking at the building and he decides our district clothing classifies us as potential troublemakers.

"What are you kids doing here?" demands the doorman from his post.

"Um ... We're friends of Marcella Greene," I reply. "She didn't turn up for a meeting. We just came by to see if she's okay."

"Yeah. You and plenty of others are looking for her," says the doorman. "The peacekeepers are questioning her family now. Unless you want to talk to the peacekeepers, I suggest you get out of here now."

The sight of three peacekeepers escorting a man, woman and young girl through the apartment lobby prompts us to retreat quickly towards the university campus. I only manage a brief look at the people with the peacekeepers, but it's enough to see that there's a family likeness to the photograph on Zoe's identity card. Without stopping to consider what we are doing, we merge with the crowds of students moving around the campus.

Cato leads us towards a group of students waiting outside a lecture hall. These students are all wearing district clothing. Not the threadbare rags commonly worn in the impoverished outer districts, but the more robust wear of the inner districts. Our own clothing means we blend in perfectly. Unfortunately, that's all that does. As the students talk among themselves it becomes obvious they are Capitol citizens and none of them have ever visited any of the districts.

The lecture hall doors open and the crowd around us floods into the hall. Rather than risk being left exposed in the rapidly emptying pathways and grounds of the university, the three of us enter the lecture hall. We find seats near the back and pretend to be students. A tall man wearing a flowing purple gown moves onto the podium at the front of the hall.

"Today's lecture is about section five of the Treaty of the Treason. If you're in the wrong room, then leave now; otherwise insert you identity cards into the slot to register your attendance."

A flashing light appears on the narrow desk in front of each occupied seat. The other students promptly insert their cards which stops the flashing light. Cato looks torn between leaving or inserting his identity card into the slot. Either option carries huge risks. Zoe takes her card out ready, but looks to Cato for a decision. Delay would only draw attention to us, so I decide on behalf of the three of us and insert my identity card. Cato and Zoe then do the same. No alarms sound and nobody pays us any attention. The lecturer waits until all the flashing lights stop before launching into his talk.

We sit listening to twenty minutes of almost non-stop waffle on a topic I can barely understand. I've heard of the Treaty of the Treason; the Hunger Games were created by it. But section five is something else completely and I can't make head or tail of the legal mumbo jumbo. Cato switched off after the first minute, but Zoe seems able to follow what is being said.

The lecturer stops and asks for questions. Several students take up the opportunity, and it quickly becomes obvious that the political sympathies of most of the students around us support the rights of the districts against the oppression of the Capitol. The lecturer answers a few questions, but he ignores those which strongly challenge the official government view.

Then disaster strikes. The hall doors are flung open and six peacekeepers march into the hall. Silence greets them and more than a few students make to leave.

"Remain in your seats," commands one of the peacekeepers, stopping everybody in their tracks.

"This hall is on university grounds. What's the meaning of this intrusion?" asks the lecturer, trying to exert some authority.

"We are searching for a missing minor. We have reason to believe she's in this hall. Marcella Greene, identify yourself."

Belatedly we realise our identity cards have not only registered our fake identity's attendance at this lecture, but alerted the peacekeepers. I should have thought of that before. We're trapped. As everyone looks around the room for Marcella Greene, the only phrase I can think of rhymes with clucking bell.


	34. Sacrifice

34\. Sacrifice.

For a few seconds everyone looks around the hall to see if Marcella Greene is here. Zoe looks to Cato for advice, but she's out of luck. Cato isn't the fastest thinker in this sort of situation, although I'm not any help either. I look around at our options. Chances of making it out of this room without being stopped? Nil. Chances of the peacekeepers simply leaving when nobody responds? Nil. Chances of avoiding arrest if our identity cards are checked? Nil. It's not looking good for us. Zoe obviously arrives at the same conclusion.

"I'm here," she bravely says as she stands up.

She's sacrificing herself on the off-chance Cato and I might still escape. There must be people in this room who know the real Marcella Greene, and I wait for someone to blow Zoe's cover. Fortunately nobody does; probably because they don't want to get involved. Anybody who knows that Marcella Greene has made a run for District Two isn't likely to risk broadcasting that knowledge to the peacekeepers.

"Come down here," orders the peacekeeper.

While Zoe is working her way down to the podium, the peacekeepers drag a woman wearing handcuffs into the hall. I remember seeing this woman before. It's Marcella's mother. We're sunk!

"Identity card," demands the peacekeeper of Zoe when she reaches him.

"This your daughter?" he asks of Marcella's mother as Zoe hands him her identity card. Fortunately the peacekeeper is concentrating on the mother and doesn't look too closely at Zoe's card.

"Yes, of course it is," replies the mother. "Marcella, my dear, you gave us all such a fright. The peacekeepers thought you had fallen in with a rebel group and were causing trouble in the districts. I told them you didn't involve yourself with such groups. But they still arrested your father, Naomi and I on suspicion of aiding a terrorist group."

"Quiet!" orders the peacekeeper. "What have you to say, girl?"

"Err ... Nothing," replies Zoe, remaining calm despite the pressure. "I skipped lectures for a few days because I wanted some time on my own. I came back today. I'm sorry, ma. I didn't realise it was going to cause you so much trouble."

The peacekeepers look flustered. They can't find anything wrong in what has occurred before them, although a proper check of Zoe's identity card would spell our doom. In their eyes, the prospect of foiling some sinister plot against the government has evaporated. One of the peacekeepers releases the mother from her handcuffs and they march out of the hall. As if for show, Marcella's mother wraps Zoe in her arms. Zoe plays along with the act although I've no idea what will happen next.

"Perhaps you should take your daughter home," suggests the lecturer, once he's sure the peacekeepers have gone.

Zoe and Marcella's mother leave, and the lecturer turns towards his students.

"Settle down. Settle down. Let that little episode be a reminder to you all. The university tolerates a certain amount of free thinking among students and staff, but any involvement with subversive groups will attract the attention of the law. Many of you hold sympathies for the plight of people in the districts, but I must remind you that President Snow has personally ordered a crackdown on opposition to his regime. The university has only limited powers to protect you if you step out of line."

The lecturer's words are greeted by a fair amount of grumbling and discontent. I suddenly realise that the seats around where Cato and I are sat now contain more people than were sat there before. Nobody looks at Cato and I directly, but I can sense that we are being watched. Cato moves into the seat vacated by Zoe and he holds my hand. Getting out of here is going to be tricky. Helping Zoe will be a nearly impossible task. But I'm not ready to abandon Zoe to her fate, particularly as it was my decision that unintentionally alerted the peacekeepers.

The lecture finishes and most of the students file out of the hall and head off to their next lecture. A group of seven students remain seated around Cato and I, blocking our way out. Two of them are wearing district style clothing, while the other five are garbed in typical Capitol wear.

"Who are you?" asks one of the women wearing Capitol clothing.

"Gaius Proctor and ... um ..." begins Cato.

"Fleur Debrett," I add before it becomes obvious Cato can't remember my false name.

"No you're not," replies the woman. "Nor is your friend Marcella Greene, despite what Mrs. Greene claimed. So who are you?"

"We'd rather not say," I reply. "If you're going to turn us in, then go ahead and do it."

"To the peacekeepers? Not likely. But you'll have to convince the chief that you're not peacekeeper spies if you want to stay alive. Come with us."

I look at Cato. He's assessing whether we could force our way out of here. I don't like the odds. Even if we could break free, we would be on the run in a hostile city.

"Sure," I say before Cato can do anything rash. "Lead the way."

Cato and I are escorted to the basement of another building in the campus. The basement seems to house meeting rooms and offices for various student clubs and societies. We enter a room adorned with posters and banners calling for an end to the Treaty of the Treason, and similar political sentiments. If anybody inside the Capitol can help Cato, Zoe and I, then this group seems to be the most promising. But we need to convince them we're all on the same side.

"Where's the chief?" asks one of our escort.

"He's out," replies a red haired student sat behind a desk. "Who are your two friends? New recruits?"

"They claim to be Gaius and Fleur. They have a friend who claims to be Marcella."

"I see. So what do their identity cards say their names are?"

"Um ..."

"Gaius Procter and Fleur Debrett," I reply, before our escort goes through the unnecessary task of demanding to see our identity cards. Something they should have thought of earlier.

"And how did you come by Gaius and Fleur's identity cards?" asks the red haired student, holding out his hand demanding to look at our cards.

"We were trying to leave the Capitol, but we didn't have enough money to pay the fee to use the exit," I say. "We had already ditched our own identity cards. The man at the exit let us use these cards until we could return with the money he demanded."

"And did this man have a name?" asks the red haired student.

"Caligula," I reply. The name obviously means something to everyone in the room.

"And what are your real names?"

"We're not placing our families in danger by revealing our real names," I reply.

"Fair enough," concedes the red haired student. "You can argue that point with the chief. He'll want to question you further. You can wait in the meeting room over there until he returns."

Cato and I are shown to a small meeting room and we're left alone. The door is closed but not locked. However, I doubt we would be allowed to walk out of here without being stopped.

"I hope you know what you are doing," says Cato. "Why not simply tell them who we are?"

"They're already suspicious about why we are here. Telling them that we're escaped Hunger Games tributes who arrived here from a district which isn't supposed to exist any more is going to stretch things too far."

"Well, we may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait," says Cato as he clears a stack of books from one of the two easy chairs in the room.

He signals for me to sit on his lap rather than clear the other chair of a much larger pile of books and papers. I don't resist his offer since I feel the need for some reassurance that he agrees with my actions. I'm feeling very responsible for getting us into this situation. Cato puts his arm around my shoulder and I lean my head into his chest. Before long we are sharing a kiss and our hands are busy doing more than soothing and reassuring each other. Our fondling is interrupted by the arrival of one of the helpers carrying a tray of food.

"Thought you might like something to eat while you wait," says the girl carrying the tray. "It's standard District Two fare, I'm afraid. We do our best to copy life for those we are trying to help in the districts."

"That's fine. Thank you," I say before Cato can comment about the food being rather fancy to call it standard district fare.

The girl deposits the tray on the desk and quickly leaves without saying much more. She clearly doesn't know what to make of us. We devour the food and help ourselves to some water from the jug on the table. Once we've satisfied our hunger we return to our intimate games. Nothing too outrageous, since we might be interrupted at any moment. We can nevertheless get quite inventive with our snatched moments of intimacy. There are times when I miss the privacy of our cabin in Sunny Glen.

The sound of people arriving in the main office alerts us to a possible intrusion into our time alone. I straighten my clothes and hair in anticipation of a visitor. Cato is more relaxed as though he doesn't mind making it obvious how he and I have been spending our time while we wait.

The door opens and the girl who brought our food tray enters with two slightly older students. I notice that nobody introduces themselves here, which I presume is a precaution against us being peacekeeper spies rather than any deliberate policy of anonymity.

"Well at least you know how to dress as district people," says the taller of the two men. "You might almost pass for real district people."

"That's good to know," replies Cato. "You could almost pass for a Capitol student pretending to be district man."

I tense in case Cato's reply is taken the wrong way. Fortunately it isn't and our three hosts shrug off Cato's comment.

"You're lucky that Caligula backed up your story," continues the taller man. "However, he didn't say who you are or where you came from. The chief doesn't like it when independent groups get in the way of his operations. Our group has gone to a lot of trouble to set up our secret route out of the Capitol. You jeopardise our operations by trying to use our route. How did you find out about the tunnel?"

"It's the route into the Capitol which the rebels tried to seize during the civil war 75 years ago," replies Cato. "Once you understand the security arrangements the peacekeepers have in place, then the tunnel is an obvious way in and out of the Capitol."

"Hah!" scoffs the man. "And what do you know about the peacekeepers security around the tunnel?"

"Nothing," I reply. "Our friend who went with Mrs. Greene is the expert on that."

My comment has thrown the man into confusion. Obviously nobody mentioned Zoe to him. He looks at the girl for an explanation. She just shrugs her shoulders indicating she too knows nothing about Zoe. The other man leaves us for a moment, presumably to check on the information his colleagues have omitted to tell him and his partner.

More waiting. A few minutes later the man returns and whispers something into the taller man's ear. He frowns in response. "Fetch the chief ... now," says the taller man to the other man. His order is obeyed at once. Yet more waiting.

Eventually we can hear noise from the other room as an entourage of people file in. There's a lot of talking, but unfortunately I can't make out anything coherent. Then the door to our room swings open and three more students enter. Or rather, two of them are students. The third one I recognise at once ... Peeta Mellark. As I expected from my fellow 74th Hunger Games' tribute from District Twelve, Peeta's face shows that he recognises Cato and I. But he doesn't immediately blurt out our names. I take a lead from Peeta's reaction and stay quiet for the moment.

"My colleagues call me the chief," says a dark skinned man to Cato and I. "You had better have a good explanation for infiltrating my group's operations."

"We didn't ask for your friends to kidnap us and bring us here," replies Cato. "We've no intention of infiltrating your group."

"And yet you both carry the identity cards of two of our members," continues the chief.

"Which we were given by your gatekeeper. We didn't ask to be given them."

The chief looks at the woman who entered the room with him and Peeta. She's been quietly trying to attract the chief's attention since they entered.

"What is it?" asks the chief irritably.

"I know who the girl is," replies the girl. "She's Katniss Everdeen."

"Is that name supposed to mean something to me?" snaps the chief.

"Yes," replies the girl calmly, showing no sign that the chief's attitude is intimidating her.


	35. A hazardous situation

35\. A hazardous situation.

A tense few days follow while the fifteen members of SATT, Students Against the Treaty of the Treason, discuss what to do about the two celebrities who have landed in their midst. Cato and I give them an edited version of how we escaped from the arena, and ended up in Sunny Glen. We don't lie about our adventures, but there are many things which we intend to keep to ourselves until we are sure we are safe. Even them knowing who we are is placing us in danger of accidental or deliberate betrayal. We imply our rescue from Sunny Glen delivered us to the Capitol rather than District Thirteen in case we are placing Zoe at risk.

For some reason Peeta's real identity is still unknown to the members of SATT. Cato and I haven't had a chance to talk to him alone to find out why. At least the students arrange for somewhere for Cato and I to stay, even if he and I are kept apart for most of the time. I suspect the reason for the separation is so that we are each a hostage for the good behaviour of the other.

For our own safety we stay in the confines of the university campus. The peacekeepers usually keep away from the campus, although that could change at any time. The government's tolerance for free-thinking and protest only stretches so far. Fortunately the students have allowed us to talk with Zoe. Of the three of us, Zoe's situation is the most hazardous. It seems the Greene family is just as anxious to use Zoe as cover for their missing daughter as Zoe is to have a safe hideout. The peacekeepers' information that Marcella Greene is part of an illegal group helping to stir up unrest in District Two isn't too far from the truth. The SATT chief told us that the real Gaius and Fleur are also part of the same illegal group, and Cato and my presence here on campus at least covers for their absence. I've no idea what the Proctor and Debrett families know about their offspring's location and activities.

The living arrangements mean Zoe must travel outside the boundaries of the university. She could be stopped by the peacekeepers at any time and her borrowed identity card discovered. Fortunately random identity checks are much less frequent in the Capitol than they are in the districts. We see each other daily when we attend lectures as part of keeping up our disguise. We are kept discreetly under watch by one or more members of SATT when the three of us are together. They still remain suspicious of our presence, and only a few of them have revealed their names to us.

I'm sat alone in the small accommodation suite I share with three other girls when a message arrives saying that Peeta wishes to meet with me tonight. I don't know what name he uses here, but he has used his real name on the message. I'm not due to see Cato again until tomorrow, and I've been warned that I mustn't meet with him outside the SATT approved schedule. I don't think either of us can tolerate these restrictions for much longer. The chief needs to decide whether to trust us or not, and he needs to do it soon.

I leave my room for the place where Peeta said he wants to meet. I have the usual shadow as soon as I leave my room. However, the girl assigned to the task is inexperienced and she's easy to shake off. I approach the meeting place only a few seconds late. Peeta is waiting in a doorway, trying to look inconspicuous. He fails miserably, and I easily manage to sneak up and surprise him. He gives me a hug once he gets over his shock.

"What are you dong here in the Capitol?" I ask Peeta once our brief heartfelt reunion is over.

"I'm not supposed to say," replies Peeta. "I was going to ask you the same question."

"I'm not supposed to say, either," I lie. "This is going to be a short reunion if we aren't going to trust each other."

"Okay," replies Peeta. "I was sent here by the gamemaker who rescued us from the Hunger Games arena. He wants me to keep an eye on the activities of SATT."

"And would that gamemaker have a name?" I ask.

"Heavensbee. Plutarch Heavensbee," replies Peeta. "But I've lost contact with him since he fled from the Capitol. They nearly caught him, you know."

"He's probably hiding out with friends," I say, still being cautious not to tell Peeta too much despite my comment about trusting each other.

"So what have you been assigned to do?" asks Peeta. "I presume you are working for one of the rebel groups."

"Actually Cato and I ended up here by accident," I reply. "We haven't been assigned to do anything by anybody. What about you?"

"Heavensbee was concerned that SATT would inadvertently interfere with his plans," says Peeta. "He regards them as bungling amateurs who are more dangerous to themselves than the peacekeepers. I'm supposed to let Heavensbee know when the chief plans attempts to sneak his people into the districts. Unfortunately I couldn't let him know about the group's recent attempt to get Marcella, Gaius and Fleur into District Two."

"Well it seems that they've made it there successfully," I reply.

"Yeah, but the peacekeepers soon identified Marcella as one of the insurgents. The Greene family are extremely lucky that your friend was posing as Marcella. Whole families have been locked up for similar crimes committed by their offspring. The chief is an idealist who doesn't consider the danger he's placing people in."

"Well, an uprising isn't going to be started by playing safe and following Snow's rules," I reply.

"Are you saying that you support the insurgents efforts to start a rebellion?" says Peeta.

"Something needs to change about the injustice created by the Treaty of the Treason. There will be no chance of a normal life for the three of us while President Snow remains in charge."

"I know. But there must be a better way than restarting the civil war that proved so disastrous for the districts 75 years ago."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. I just think we need to be careful and think about what we are doing. Pitching the Capitol against the districts isn't going to result in a lasting peace. We must learn to live together."

"I think that's what many people in the Capitol already believe is happening. They are blind to the suffering of those of us in the districts. They're even blind to the suffering of those in the poorer parts of the Capitol."

Peeta and I talk for a while longer, but I soon realise that he and I have very different views about the political situation. He is convincing himself that doing nothing is the right thing to do. I couldn't disagree more. I want a life with Cato and our unborn child. The only way I can achieve that is to be an active part in President Snow's downfall.

I return to my room to find my shadow and a male colleague are waiting anxiously in the corridor for my arrival. I wave to them as I pass as though nothing is amiss.

"Where have you been?" demands the male student.

"Out for a walk," I reply. "I thought that was permitted. I don't need a chaperone, you know. I am able to find my way back to my room."

The presence of my three room-mates deters any further conversation. None of them have connections with SATT. They are all busy studying, so I pretend to do likewise. In reality I simply lie on my bed thinking about my conversation with Peeta. I was disappointed with Peeta's reaction to our situation, but our conversation at least gave me an idea on what Cato, Zoe and I should try to do. I shall talk to them both when we meet tomorrow morning.

"Hey, Fleur," calls Venus, one of my room-mates. "There's a guy down in the yard holding up a sign with your name on it."

I go to the window and look towards where Venus is pointing. It's Cato. I wave to him, although it takes him a minute or so before he sees me. He signals to me and then moves away. I hope I've interpreted his message correctly.

"He's hot," says Venus. "Is he yours?"

"Yes. So keep your hands off," I reply.

"Hmmm. Well let me know when you get tired of him."

"Okay. But don't hold your breath waiting."

I walk out of the room and straight into my two shadows. Clearly I now warrant a double guard.

"I'm going down to the swimming pool," I say, waving a towel in their direction. "You can come if you like."

The male student tells the girl to come with me. She doesn't really want to, but she complies with his wishes.

"You'll need your costume," I say. "Do you want to swing by your room to pick it up?"

"That won't be necessary," she replies. "I'll just watch from the side."

"So, do you have a name?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you. The chief is still making his mind up about you."

"Is he usually so slow in arriving at decisions?"

"Not normally. But he's been extra cautious ever since the peacekeepers arrested his assistant. His new one, Peter, is even more cautious."

"Peter? Is he the solidly built fair haired guy who hovers over the chief's shoulder?"

"Yeah. That's him. He knows a lot about life in the districts. That's probably why the chief picked him. Peter didn't think Marcella, Fleur and Gaius would pass for district people. He didn't want them to go on the mission, but they insisted."

"Hmmm ... He may be right. But we can't all just sit around doing nothing. Do you want to go on a mission?"

"I want to do something positive, but the chief will never pick me for a mission. I'd never pass for a district girl."

She's probably right. Her mannerisms shout 'Capitol girl' loud and clear. But with training she might do okay.

We reach the swimming pool and my shadow finds a seat at one side of the large pool. I go to the changing rooms and find Cato waiting for me by the door. I give him a kiss before quickly changing out of my regular clothes. I don't have a proper swimming costume so I make do with my underwear. Once I'm ready I rejoin Cato and we quickly dive into the water before my shadow realises what is going on.

The pool is relatively quiet with about twenty other swimmers. Most are with friends, so my being close to Cato doesn't look suspicious. My shadow has contented herself with reading something on her electronic notepad and she doesn't notice Cato and I together.

Cato's hands soon start to play their devilish game over my body. I return the compliment and before long we are both in a state of arousal. We do our best to disguise the nature of our games from nearby swimmers, but I suspect they know full well what we are doing. Not that they seem to mind. I suppose we aren't the first couple to make out in the pool. Their indifference only encourages us to go further than is decent. My underwear is soon floating loose in the water. But Cato resists my attempts to denude him as well. I recall that despite his normal arrogant and macho behaviour, he's quite shy when it comes to sex in a public place.

It seems our lewd behaviour has encouraged at least one other couple to copy us. It's hardly a wild orgy, but nor is it something you would normally expect to see in a public swimming pool. At least, not in the districts; in the Capitol, who knows? I'm far too aroused to worry about what is happening around me. I'm relying on Cato's more reserved attitude to alert me if something needs my attention. At the moment only one thing has my attention, and it is firmly wedged where I want it.

It is hard to believe that only a few months ago I was so timid and reserved when it came to any form of intimacy with a boy. Now I'm a glutton for the wild pleasure that Cato provides me when we make out. I let out an involuntary cry as Cato tips me over that blissful edge that leaves my body trembling uncontrollably. Cato grunts as he too can no longer hold himself back. Moments later we collapse into each others arms with a satisfied smile on our faces.

Like all good things, our pleasure is brought to an end when I realise my shadow is standing nearby. Our performance has inevitably drawn her attention and she has rushed towards us to intervene. She coughs over-loudly to draw our attention.

"Did you get a good look?" I ask her impishly.

"Fine, thank you," she says without a hint of embarrassment. "If you've quite finished with your swim, we had best get back to your room."

"Hey, Sophia," calls one of the other swimmers. "Don't be a spoilsport, and come and join in the fun."

The source of the voice is a rather attractive young man who obviously has a yearning for my shadow's elegant body. Cato give me a tap on my shoulder when he realises that I'm staring at the young man for longer than Cato thinks necessary. So my shadow has a name; Sophia. I wonder how she'll react now.

I've seriously misjudged Sophia. I thought her to be a timid mouse trying hard to be something more. But she's no mouse at all. She's a tigress in disguise. She has her clothes off in a second and she jumps into the pool. By the time Cato and I are aroused enough to resume our lovemaking, Sophia and her friend are hard at it.


	36. The plan

36\. The plan.

The next morning Zoe joins Cato and I at another lecture about the Treaty of the Treason. I manage to have a short conversation with them without our minders noticing.

"We should persuade the chief and the others in SATT to focus their efforts on stirring up a revolt inside the Capitol," I say. "There are large sections of the Capitol where people live in conditions no better than in the districts. If we can rouse them into rebellion then it won't matter how formidable the Capitol's outer defences are. The peacekeepers can't be everywhere and attacking people in the Capitol will only undermine President Snow's hold on power."

"Do you think we can achieve it from here?" asks Zoe.

"With the help of SATT, we might," I reply. "Students can go anywhere in the Capitol without special permits, so it removes the problem of escaping and working in disguise in the districts."

"Okay," says Cato. "Let's talk to the chief as soon as we can."

It's two days later when the chief finally agrees to our request for a meeting. As usual Peeta is with him when Zoe, Cato and I are escorted into the SATT office. By now I've started to have my doubts about the chief's ability to manage anything, let alone incite a rebellion. But my low opinion of the chief's dedication to SATT's goals, and by association, Peeta's, doesn't extend to many of the other SATT members. After our fun and games in the swimming pool the other night I've become friendly with Sophia and a few of the others. They are genuine in their desire to end the Treaty of the Treason, and between them they have many skills and talents. Given the proper training and leadership they could achieve a lot.

The meeting is a disappointment. The chief and Peeta are paralysed with indecision. The only positive item to come from the meeting is that the chief has finally decided that he can trust Cato, Zoe and I. The former restrictions on our movements and liaisons have been removed.

Over the next few days we occasionally see a SATT member watching us, but I don't think it's because they've been told to do so. In fact we seem to be gathering quite a following of admirers. I just hope they aren't expecting another display of sex in public. Cato and I have been much more circumspect in our lovemaking now that we can meet when we like. Sleeping arrangements are still separated by gender, but I don't mind too much. There are plenty of places and ample time for Cato and I to make out.

The inactivity is causing frustration among most of the SATT members. The chief has refused three further requests by different members to try the escape tunnel into District Two. We follow the news reports every day, but they are little more than government propaganda. It's only when we question why different news reports contradict each other that we can sense the level of unrest. One news report says the districts are at peace, while a later item says that additional peacekeepers are being sent here, there and everywhere. Shortages in the Capitol of certain commodities imported from different districts give us a sense of which districts are in revolt. But whether that revolt is limited to isolated strikes or a district-wide rebellion is a closely guarded government secret.

Without deliberately setting out to do so, several of the SATT members have formed a splinter group looking to us for leadership. It's Zoe who sets them to work on different tasks, even though she still insists on referring to Cato as our leader. Small tasks at first, but gradually more complex duties which provide us with useful information. Zoe has someone checking on which items are in short supply in the markets each day. Someone else checking the veracity of rumours. Sophia proves particularly adept at going into the poorer districts of the Capitol and gauging the mood of the residents. All in all we are building up a good set of knowledge without relying on the propaganda on television. Our group is still part of SATT, but there is a widening gulf between the nine members working with us, and the four who only follow the chief and Peeta's directions. We share what we've learned with the chief, but more often than not he dismisses our information as irrelevant. I fear that it's only going to be a matter of time before SATT will split itself into two groups. New recruits join regularly and some of the less enthusiastic members leave. This process gradually increases the size of the group around Cato, Zoe and I at the expense of the dwindling group behind the chief.

I initially worry in case the chief retaliates against the three of us for usurping his authority. But he makes no move against us. In fact he sees our activities as a harmless means of keeping the members of SATT occupied. Certainly disillusionment and boredom are the most common causes for SATT members to leave the group.

We continue this strange relationship for a couple of weeks. Then, one day, Sophia returns to the campus shortly after midday to tell everybody that a shortage of fresh produce in the markets has caused unrest in several of the outer suburbs of the Capitol. For the first time in many years, peacekeepers have been rushed from their cosy headquarters located near the government buildings to deal with the disturbance. Cato, Zoe and I follow Sophia to where she saw the peacekeepers assemble.

"They're hardly the cream of the peacekeepers' forces," observes Cato as we look at the ragged line of overweight and out-of-shape peacekeepers facing a protesting crowd. These peacekeepers look as though they are far more comfortable sat behind a desk. Barely half of them wear the traditional white armour so familiar to those of us from the districts.

The crowd surges forward. The peacekeeper line breaks in several places. Many of the peacekeepers retreat, leaving their braver colleagues exposed. This would be unthinkable in the districts, where the peacekeepers would have started shooting people long before now. A combination of poor training and an unwillingness to confront the citizens of the Capitol has reduced these peacekeepers into chaos.

The situation would have turned very nasty by now if this was occurring in a district. The exposed group of peacekeepers would have been assaulted and a violent conflict become widespread. But this crowd doesn't appreciate the commanding position it holds. They are no more ready to attack the peacekeepers than the peacekeepers are to attack the crowd. This episode will fizzle out into an angry exchange of words, after which everyone will disperse and go home. Sophia looks disappointed at the outcome, but I reassure her that the flames of revolt have been lit. It will only take an over-reaction by the peacekeepers, or further shortages, to reignite the unrest. No single action will cause a rebellion, but with careful nurturing and a healthy supply of false rumours, the members of SATT could provide the spark to turn the unrest in the Capitol into outright rebellion.

We return to the campus and resume our normal activities. After lectures Zoe begins to allocate tasks to those members of SATT willing to participate in what could be SATT's biggest operation to date. Because Zoe regards Cato as our leader, the others start to do so as well. It inflates Cato's ego enormously, although he knows better than to try a high handed approach with me. The chief remains remarkably silent until the others start referring to Cato as 'the boss'. That's when a slowly brewing feud bursts out into SATT's own civil war. It proves disastrous for both sides.

The chief makes the stupid mistake of letting the peacekeepers know that Cato and I are on the campus. That sparks an immediate raid by peacekeepers to arrest us. Fortunately Sophia warns us in time and Cato, Zoe and I go into hiding elsewhere on campus. While we easily escape the undermanned peacekeeper raid, it nevetheless nets Peeta. He's hauled off to headquarters for interrogation. It spells the end of SATT. All its members rapidly go into hiding. Zoe bravely goes to warn the Greene family, who at least had the foresight to have an escape route planned. I suppose they knew it was only a matter of time before their daughter was caught in District Two, or Zoe's cover was blown in the Capitol.

The other members of SATT take exception to the chief's actions. We learn a few days later that the chief has gone missing under mysterious circumstances. There are widespread protests across the campus over Peeta's arrest, since the peacekeepers came specifically looking for Cato and I. Arresting another student, even one using a fake identity, is a clear breach of the uneasy arrangements between the peacekeepers and the university.

The peacekeepers try to extend their search for us throughout the campus, but they lack sufficient numbers. They quickly decide that the hostility they face from the students means our capture isn't worth the trouble. They probably reason that we'll have to leave the campus at some point, and they only need to watch and wait. Even President Snow's personal vendetta against Cato and I doesn't seem to be a good enough reason to risk sparking an all out revolt on the campus. That would ignite a much broader rebellion in no time. If Cato, Zoe and I could trigger that rebellion without sacrificing ourselves in the process, then we would promptly do so. But it's not going to be that easy. Despite everything, I'd like to have a life afterwards.

We lie low for several days. Sophia proves to be an enormous asset. She rallies a few of the former members of SATT. Between them they go to work on our original plan to ferment a revolt in the outer suburbs of the Capitol. On the fifth day after the raid, Zoe risks leaving the campus. Of the three of us, she's the least likely to be stopped by the peacekeepers. Her journey isn't without risk. Marcella Greene is probably a wanted fugitive once more, so any random peacekeeper search is going to snare Zoe. Fortunately she completes her mission without incident. The three radios we hid in the abandoned building are once again in our possession. Zoe checks the batteries and pronounces the radios fit for purpose.

Our plan has the strength of simplicity. We wait until Sophia and her friends have whipped up the disgruntled residents in the fringe areas of the Capitol. Once the peacekeepers respond ... as they surely will ... we put our part of the plan into motion. Cato, Zoe and I will go to different parts of the campus and start using the radios. If Zoe is right, then the peacekeepers will identify the signals as District Thirteen agents active in the heart of the Capitol's main university. They will have no option but to respond and will bulldoze their way through student resistance. Riots and rebellion are almost certain to follow.

The plan works more or less as we intended. The peacekeepers were remarkably slow to respond to the radio signals, but when they do, it's with all the might they can muster. The predictable outcome ensues. Within a few hours several parts of the Capitol are in an uproar. It's too early to say whether that uproar will succeed in toppling President Snow. Television broadcasts are a litany of lies and misinformation. Time isn't on our side. The peacekeepers can call in reinforcements from the districts, although only at the expense of losing control there. But control of the Capitol is essential, so giving up a few districts to the rebellion may be the lesser of two evils. Cato, Zoe and I do what we can, but we have already made our best shots.

It's Sophia who suggests one more action that might tip the balance in the rebels favour. An assault on the television studios, followed by a broadcast from Cato and I to rally wavering rebels both here in the Capitol and in the districts. We don't waste time debating the idea ... we just do it.

Capturing the television station is easy enough. The peacekeepers are seriously under-strength after reinforcing their colleagues in the districts. The remaining peacekeepers have moved to encircle the presidential palace, abandoning the rest of the Capitol to the rebels. It's only a temporary state of affairs. Massive peacekeeper reinforcements are due to arrive at any moment ... at least if the television broadcasts are to be believed. And those end abruptly.

I can't claim that Cato and my interview on television was one of the defining moments of history, but it comes close enough for my liking. Historians will undoubtedly analyse and debate the sudden downfall of President Snow for many years to come. One way or another our cobbled together plan worked when a more sophisticated plan would have failed. Cato and my appearance on television supposedly tipped the balance only minutes before peacekeeper reinforcements into the Capitol might have saved President Snow's regime. I don't agree that Cato and I deserve all the credit. The credit belongs to Sophia. It was her idea. She organised of the whole thing.

Either way, it's over. A new set of politicians are scrabbling for power. The power-grab planned by District Thirteen's leaders has been pushed into the sidelines. They've had to content themselves with being a party to the discussions about a new Panem. Plutarch Heavensbee is there as well. Somehow he's become the advisor and mentor to the representatives from the Capitol.

What matters to me the most is that Cato and I can once again walk about freely as ourselves. We can be reunited with our families and decide our own future together. But I must say goodbye to one aspect of my life. Katniss Everdeen the rebel is no more. My swelling belly reminds me that it's time to think about other things.

"Stop daydreaming," says Cato, breaking me out of my thoughts. "We haven't made out in a while. Are you ready?"

"Ready, willing and able," I reply, as I take Cato's arm.

[The end]


End file.
